


simply called revolution

by roostercrowedatmidnight



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU - queer people are persecuted instead of magical people, Anxiety, F/F, Flashbacks, Gen, Gwen & Elyan being pure siblings, Gwen & Merlin Friendship (Merlin), M/M, Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin), References to Depression, arthur and morgana supporting each other like good siblings, everyone is queer because i do what i like, minor unrequited merthur, morgwen is the slowest of the burns, trans gaius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roostercrowedatmidnight/pseuds/roostercrowedatmidnight
Summary: 20 years after Uther enacted the New Religion that ensures all queer people a death sentence, Merlin arrives in Camelot and completely shakes the foundations of everyone's lives there.orThe way the show is already, but characters are hiding that they're queer instead of hiding that they're magical. And with no pesky, predetermined destiny calling, everyone holds the power to change the future. What's the point of standing idly by and supporting a kingdom where you don't even have the right to be yourself?
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 78





	1. Merlin Arrives. A Guy is Executed. Fun Times.

**Author's Note:**

> Magic still exists in this AU, but it isn't as prominent, and is mostly used by druids and performers and stuff. Merlin, Morgana, Gaius, and other characters don't possess magic. Instead of having nightmares because of being a seer, Morgana has nightmares because she has depression and anxiety (I mean, we knew that already).
> 
> It starts pretty close to how the first episode is, especially in how characters meet, but soon it will diverge from that. Elements from the show will be included, like the witchfinder or the lamia, but they will be turned on their head so that they're connected to queerness instead of magic.
> 
> We gonna take that trash man uther DOWN.

Merlin raced down the hill, his boots kicking up dust and dried mud. Camelot’s lower town spread out below him. He grinned as the crowds slowly got thicker, bright colours and loud voices filling the air. Looking around, he felt he was seeing more people in thirty seconds than he’d ever seen his whole life. He’d never been there before (or for that matter, anywhere), but he was good at figuring things out for himself, and soon reached the central citadel.

It was just as crowded there, except instead of everyone weaving about like a creek rich with fish, they were all just standing there. Merlin wiggled past a few people and craned his neck to see what was happening. In the centre of the square was a wooden platform. Two guards were leading a young man up the stairs. Merlin’s throat locked when he saw the axe gleaming in one of the guard’s hands.

“This man,” a single voice said, ringing through the eerie silence of dozens of people, “Thomas James Collins, has committed acts contradictory to the belief of our Church, and by extension has committed crimes against the Crown.”

Merlin looked up and saw a man with short grey hair standing on a balcony far above. Guards stood to either side of him.

“He has behaved unnaturally and sinfully,” the man, clearly the King, continued, “and for that he must be punished. Every citizen of Camelot knows the punishment for sinful behaviour. Furthermore, this man conspired with druids – people who go against the kingdom’s established religious practices – in hope of hiding his crimes. Because of this, there is only one course of action I can see. Sinfulness of any kind will not be tolerated in Camelot.”

The King lowered his arm. Merlin winced and looked away as the thunk of metal meeting flesh reverberated through the air.

\---

Above the crowd, the King’s ward also turned away, a flash of pain running through her as she hurriedly shut the window.

She stared blankly at the wall for a few seconds as she struggled to get her breathing under control. Uther executed people all the time; she should be used to it by now. So why was it harder to watch each time?

“Milady? Are you alright?” Gwen crossed the room.

Morgana was breathing rapidly, and she felt dizzy.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Gwen took Morgana’s hands in her own. “Are you alright?” she repeated.

Morgana put on a tight smile, though her breathing was still a little out of control. “I’m fine, Gwen.”

For a few seconds, she let Gwen hold her hands. Morgana knew that as soon as she pulled them away, she would go cold again.

“I should prepare for the feast tonight,” she said at last. Gwen nodded and took a step back. She let go of Morgana’s hands.

In the square below, the crowd had scattered. Workers slowly wheeled away the head and body of Thomas James Collins.

\---

Merlin pushed open a rough wood door and stepped into the court physician’s chambers.

“Hello?” he called out.

He closed the door and took in the room. It was a mess, but it was amazing – shelves of books and bottles wrapped around the room, which was full of desks, all covered in smoking alchemy sets and fresh herbs. Sunlight filled the room. Merlin grinned.

He looked up at the sound of fluttering pages. “Hello?” he repeated.

An old man on the wraparound balcony glanced absently over his shoulder. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for Gaius? Is that you?”

The man, who seemed to have found what he was looking for, slowly descended the stairs with a cracked tome gripped in his hand.

“That is indeed who I am.” He crossed the room towards Merlin. Gaius was a bit shorter than him, with long white hair and an imposing face. As he approached, Merlin swung his bag off his shoulder and opened it.

“I, uh, have a letter. From my mother.”

“Who are you?” Gaius asked.

“I’m Merlin.”

“Hunith’s son!”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not meant to be here until Wednesday!”

Merlin blinked. “… It is Wednesday.”

Gaius stared blankly for a few seconds. Then he nodded and tucked the letter into the pocket of his robes. “I haven’t seen Hunith in many years. I trust she’s doing well?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s good. Everyone in Ealdor is doing fine.”

“Except you, it would seem,” Gaius said.

Merlin swallowed and nodded.

“Alright, then. We’ll see if we can find some use for you around here. Put your things in the room over there.”

Merlin hurried over and dumped his things on the bed. The room was pretty plain, but it was the first time Merlin would have a whole room to himself. And an actual bed. He sat down, rubbing his knuckles pensively. Gaius was family; he was his mother’s uncle. It wasn’t like Merlin had been shipped off to some complete stranger. Still, he’d never left Ealdor before, and never had anyone apart from his mother for family. Plus, he’d only been in Camelot for a day and already he’d witnessed someone being executed. Someone just like him. Why had his mother thought sending him here would be a good idea?

But then he thought back to his years growing up in Ealdor. He’d seen people being driven out of town, or attacked in broad daylight, if even a rumour circled around them. Back when he and Will had been together, Merlin had never let Will kiss him unless he was certain they were alone, either deep in the forest or in the tunnels running under the hills. Staying in Camelot may mean a shorter trip to the chopping block, but staying in Ealdor didn’t make that threat go away. At least here he might have an actual purpose, instead of just doing nothing and being no one.

The door to his new room creaked open.

“Well, now that you’re here, don’t think that you’re going to be sitting around all day. I have herbs that need crushing and I could use a pair of strong young hands.”

Merlin stood quickly. “Yes, of course. Right away.”

Gaius gave him a little smile. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

\---

That night, with Merlin curled up in a proper bed for the first time in his life, Gaius brought a candle over to his work desk and sat down to read his niece’s letter.

_Dear Gaius,_

_I turn to you because I am at a loss for what to do. As I’ve written before, Merlin is the kind of son that would make any mother proud. However, the nature of who he is leads him to being at odds with the people of our village, and I fear for his safety were he to remain here. I know Camelot holds no love for people like Merlin, but I also know the kindness and generosity you hold towards all people. Merlin needs a hand to hold and a voice to guide him, and I hope he can find that with you, and make a home for himself in a place where he is welcomed and accepted. I pray that all is well with you, and I pray that you keep Merlin safe, understanding the strength of a mother’s love for her child._

_Hunith_

Gaius set his glasses down and leant back in his chair, deep in thought. He had a feeling he knew what she was alluding to, and he understood Hunith’s fear for her son. He recalled the help Merlin’s father Balinor had lent the druid people in smuggling out those banished or imprisoned at the beginning of the Purge, and the death sentence it had earned him. To have a child who could be chased out or even killed for being who he was would be enough to leave any mother in a perpetual state of fear.

But what could Gaius do to keep him safe? He hadn’t done nearly enough to help when the Purge had begun 20 years ago. And now he worked for the man who laid down the law that sent so many innocent people to their deaths. Besides, if Gaius ever revealed too much about himself, he would find his own head on the chopping block. It wouldn’t be much comfort to Hunith if her son’s new guardian was arrested and then promptly beheaded.

Gaius tucked the letter into one of his books. Worrying needlessly wouldn’t help solve any problems. Besides, how hard would it be for a boy like Merlin to keep a secret he’d had a lifetime practising to keep?

\---

Morgana stood motionless in the stairwell, staring out through the window at the vague shape of the execution stage. It remained in the square amid the celebrations. To Uther, 20 years of killing innocent people merited nothing less than a party.

“Morgana?”

She turned around. “Yes?”

Uther approached her, his crown gleaming even in the dim torchlight.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you joining in the feast?”

“I just don’t think chopping someone’s head off is a cause for celebration.”

Uther clenched his jaw and walked around to stand by her at the window. “The man admitted his crimes. Behaviour such as his is intolerable in Camelot. If a person cannot obey our rules, then he must suffer the consequences.”

“He wasn’t hurting anyone,” Morgana said. “What threat was he?”

“He threatened our way of life,” Uther said, raising his voice. “If our citizens do not obey the laws that we have put in place, then chaos will erupt within the kingdom. Besides, the behaviour of people like him spreads like a disease. We have to stop it when we can.”

“I don’t see how killing all your subjects makes you a good king,” Morgana muttered.

Uther scowled. “You don’t understand. You were not around 20 years ago. You don’t know what it’s like when matters such as these are allowed to get out of hand.”

He turned to leave. “I expect to see you at the celebrations in the coming days.”

“I don’t want any part in these celebrations.”

Uther took a step closer. “I am your guardian, and I expect you to do as I ask. I will allow you to miss tonight’s feast, but do not cross me again.”

He walked away down the hall.

Morgana turned back to the window and stared into the darkness. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

\---

When Merlin awoke the next day, his face was warm from the sun. He rolled over and almost fell, forgetting he no longer slept on the floor.

“Merlin?”

The door creaked and Gaius poked his head in. “Come help yourself to breakfast.”

Merlin quickly got dressed and went down to the central room. Gaius had cleared one of the tables of his scientific instruments and had laid out two bowls of porridge. Sunlight sparkled in the steam that rose from the food.

Merlin grinned and sat down opposite his new guardian. “Thank you, Gaius.”

“You can help me out around here until I find you some paid work in the castle,” Gaius said, eating a spoonful of porridge. “There are plenty of deliveries to be made, and if you could get them done for me I’ll have more time to look at patients.”

Merlin nodded. “Of course.”

They ate the rest of their porridge quietly. Though Merlin’s chest ached for his mother and Will and the familiar forests of his childhood, he was already starting to feel at home in Gaius’s cluttered chambers.

After breakfast, Gaius handed him a small bag with half a dozen phials in it. “You can spend the morning delivering these. I would give you more, but I suspect you’re going to be a little slow finding your way around the castle. I also don’t want you mixing any of them up. We wouldn’t want Sir Rosen ending up with flowing sinuses during his training this afternoon, now would we?”

“Uh, no, wouldn’t want that,” Merlin said.

Gaius explained the contents of each bottle, their recipients, and where everyone’s chambers were.

“When you’re done, come back and I’ll give you more. I have an appointment in the lower town this morning but I should be back in an hour.”

“Right. I’ll deliver these as fast as I can.” Merlin slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?” He turned back.

Gaius held out a wrapped-up sandwich for him. “Don’t forget this.”

Merlin smiled and took the sandwich. “Be back soon.”

\---

Gaius had been right. Merlin wandered around for ages looking for everyone’s chambers. Also, he was pretty certain he had given a couple of potions to the wrong people. He just hoped nobody started spewing frogs. He didn’t need any trouble on his first day.

Unfortunately, turns out no frog spewing was necessary to get Merlin into trouble -- it was something that came to him naturally.

Merlin was walking down the stairs and past the training grounds when he heard someone shout, “Hey, hang on!”

Across the grass, a scrawny serving boy was running around carrying a wooden shield far too big for him. A young man with golden hair was chucking knives at him and laughing. With each thunk of knife slicing into wood, the serving boy changed directions, tripping over his feet and moving like his life depended on it.

Finally the boy stumbled. The shield slipped from his arms and started rolling, and the boy began crawling frantically in an attempt to stay hidden behind it. As the shield rolled towards Merlin, he pinned it under his boot.

The boy stopped crawling and collapsed in the dirt in front of him.

“Hey, come on, that’s enough,” Merlin said to the blond man, who was approaching him with a perplexed look on his face.

“What?”

“You’ve had your fun, my friend.”

“Do I know you?” the man asked.

“Uh, I’m Merlin.” He reached out his hand.

“So I don’t know you.”

Merlin dropped his hand. “No.”

“Yet you called me ‘friend’.”

Merlin smirked. “That was my mistake.”

“Yes, I think so,” the blond man said with a sneer.

“Yeah. I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”

“Or I one who could be so stupid,” said the blond, stepping forward. “Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”

Merlin held his ground, looking the man directly in the eyes. “Nope.”

“Would you like me to help you?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Merlin.

The man barked out a short laugh. “Why? What are you going to do to me?”

Merlin’s hands tingled. He knew he was picking a fight he couldn’t win. This guy looked like some jumped up nobleman’s son, the kind who thought he owned the world just because his parents bought him nice clothes and fancy weapons. He also looked strong. But Merlin knew that any beating he was going to get couldn’t possibly feel worse than leaving some poor kid alone to be bullied. He’d watched people turn away and leave him to get ripped apart before. He didn’t want to be like them.

“Be my guest! Come on!” The man grinned and gestured for Merlin to make a move. Behind him, his friends were laughing.

Merlin glanced quickly to the side, and then took a wild swing at the man’s face. Before he’d even landed the punch, Merlin’s arm was being twisted behind his back. He gasped as pain coursed up his shoulder.

“I’ll have you thrown in jail for that,” the man hissed into Merlin’s ear.

“What, who do you think you are? The King?” Merlin said, trying not to show how much pain he was in.

“No, I’m his son. Arthur.”

If the ‘ _In that moment he knew he’d fucked up_ ’ meme had existed in the 5th century, that’s what would have been playing in Merlin’s head at that moment.

Arthur’s men hauled Merlin into the basement of the castle and threw him to the ground in one of the cells. The place was cold and sour.

Merlin sat back against one of the walls. At least the cool stone helped comfort the pain in his shoulder.

How had he messed up already? Merlin groaned, tucked his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in his crossed arms. The sandwich from Gaius, the last meal he would be having for the day, sat like a stone in his stomach.

Far above him, Gaius sat mixing herbs in his chambers, waiting for his new ward to come back and join him for lunch.

\---

Morgana woke with a scream. Her chest had that hollow, swooping pain you feel when you think you’re about to lose your balance and fall over a ledge. Sweat clung to her spine.

“Morgana?” Gwen rushed into the room, familiar enough with the surroundings to move fast even in the dark. Morgana was taking big ragged breaths, her eyes unfocused as she stared out into the blackness of her chambers. When Gwen reached the bed and grabbed her shoulders, Morgana flinched.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.” Gwen pushed Morgana’s hair out of her face.

Morgana felt her throat closing up as she pulled Gwen into a hug, still dazed and half asleep.

Gwen stroked her hair. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

Morgana’s eyes were hot with tears. “I don’t want to start ha-having nightmares again,” she sobbed.

“I know,” Gwen said.

“I don’t want to feel like this again!”

Gwen held her tighter. “That’s not going to happen.”

After a few minutes, Gwen laid Morgana back down under the sheets. She sat by her side, holding her hand until she fell asleep once more.


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback chap.

Three years after Morgana moved to the palace in Camelot, she started having nightmares.

The first few times, they’d seemed random and unimportant. All kids have nightmares.

But Morgana had them every night.

Loud, vivid dreams that woke her up crying, sticky with sweat. She would re-live the death of her father, or dream of Arthur getting hurt training with Uther’s knights. She dreamt of Uther as well – of him shouting at her, or deciding he didn’t want her anymore and sending her out on her own. Sometimes she even dreamt of him high up on the balcony as she crouched in the square below, her head on the chopping block like all the others Uther had sentenced to death.

After a couple of weeks she stopped going to sleep. She couldn’t bear closing her eyes, knowing the visions she would have to endure.

She would last for a few days before falling asleep during a meal, or passing out as she walked through one of the castle’s many corridors. Half the time when she woke up from a nightmare, she was already in Gaius’s chambers. He would give her potions to try soothing her sleep or stop the throb of all the bruises she got from falling when she passed out.

When this had been going on for a month and a half, Uther ordered that Morgana be moved to the spare room in the physician’s chambers so that Gaius would be there for her when she needed potions, and to cut down the travel time of moving her from room to room after she’d fainted.

Gaius’s potions would work some of the time. Morgana would go two or three nights with a restful sleep. Then the nightmares would return with a venom. She would stop going to sleep again. If this went on for too long, Gaius would drug Morgana’s meals, just so that she would get a chance to rest.

\---

Morgana didn’t come down to the dining hall anymore. She stopped wandering the corridors. Arthur started asking questions.

“Will Morgana be joining us tonight, Father?” Arthur said one night at dinner. He was 15. He and Uther were seated at the far end of a long, empty table. Servants hovered silently behind them, ready to refill their cups.

“No, Arthur.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Without Morgana to sit with during meals, there was no one to tease and laugh with, no buffer between Arthur and the cold shadow of his father.

“She is unwell,” Uther said, sipping his wine. Arthur wanted to ask more, but he was scared of his father snapping at him.

Later that evening, he visited Gaius’s chambers.

“How can I help you, Sire?” Gaius asked when Arthur walked in.

“I was wondering if I could visit Morgana,” said Arthur. “She’s staying in your chambers, isn’t she?”

“I believe the Lady Morgana is sleeping at the moment,” Gaius replied, walking over to Arthur. In the past couple of months, Arthur had grown until he was as tall as Gaius. Though he was still smaller than the knights he trained with, his muscles were slowly starting to fill out.

“She’s always sleeping,” Arthur complained. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with her?”

“She is… suffering from nightmares, My Lord. They plague her sleep every night.”

“Why? What’s causing them?”

“I don’t know,” Gaius said with a sigh. “Fear manifests more strongly in some people than in others, and its kind cannot be removed.”

Arthur frowned. “In Morgana? But she isn’t scared of anything.”

“We are all scared of something, Arthur,” Gaius said, returning to his desk, where he was preparing a poultice.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gaius pursed his lips. “If you like, you can sit with her for a while. I’m afraid there’s nothing else that can be done.”

Arthur nodded and crossed the room. He paused at the back door for a second, and then pushed it open slowly.

The room was small and plain, but servants had clearly done their best to make the space more suitable for someone as important as the King’s ward. A small wardrobe covered in brushes and bottles had been placed in the corner. The bed was tiny but had expensive silk sheets. On the nightstand, a candle flickered. Empty potion bottles surrounded it.

Morgana was nestled in the bed's heavy sheets. She’d always been pale, but now her face stood out like snow against the darkness of her hair. Even the warmth of the candle’s glow didn’t hide the sickly colour of her skin.

There was already a chair by the bed. Arthur sat down. He’d tried to be as quiet as possible, but Morgana must have been a light sleeper, because suddenly she jolted awake, looking frantically around the room.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Arthur whispered. “It’s just me.”

“Arthur?” Morgana said. Normally she’d take any opportunity possible to tease him. Now she didn’t have the energy to. Arthur didn’t either.

“I just came to see how you were,” he said.

Morgana’s eyelids fluttered. Her normally bright green eyes were faded to a dull grey.

Arthur shifted, not knowing what else to say. “Um, is there anything I can get you?”

Morgana shook her head. “Will you sit with me for a while?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur sat silently in the dark room for over an hour as Morgana slid slowly in and out of restless sleep. Eventually Gaius came in and gently guided Arthur out of the room. Morgana was finally breathing steadily.

“Hopefully she’ll be fine for the night,” Gaius said.

Arthur nodded, crossing the room and opening the door. “Right. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Of course, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Gaius.”

\---

The next day Arthur took a couple of guards and wandered into the lower town. Since he was fully emerged in his knight training now, his father said he ought to have his own sword made. The royal blacksmith had been sick for a fortnight, so Arthur had commissioned Tom the blacksmith a couple of days before. He knew his sword couldn’t possibly be ready yet, but the idea of having a personal sword made just for him filled him with excitement, and he wanted to check on the progress.

As he walked around a stall and towards the forges, he heard a voice, half caught in a giggle, saying, “Elyan, stop it!”

Standing by the forge were two kids. One was a girl with glowing amber eyes and light brown skin. She was about Arthur’s age. A boy a couple of years younger, with slightly darker skin and a wild grin, was squeezing the bellows to blow ashy air in the girl’s face. She was trying to scold him, but she couldn’t stop laughing. Both of them had traces of coal dust clinging to their clothes and hands.

It made Arthur think of when Morgana had first arrived at the castle, back when he was only 12. Before his knight training had been a serious daily activity, he and Morgana used to go out in the training grounds and swing wooden swords at each other. Arthur wished he was still allowed to behave like that.

One of Arthur’s guards approached the boy and girl, who hadn’t spotted them yet. “The Prince wishes to inquire into the progress of his sword.”

The girl’s eyes went wide and she scrambled away from her brother before curtsying as Arthur came into sight. The boy stared for a few seconds before copying his sister and bowing.

“Of course, My Lord,” the girl said, rising and looking nervously at Arthur. “Elyan,” she hissed, “fetch Father right away.”

The boy, Elyan, put down the bellows and ran off.

“My father will be able to inform you on the progress of your weapon, My Lord,” the girl said.

Arthur nodded, trying to act business-like. Apart from Morgana, he wasn’t used to being around people his own age. He knew talking to a commoner was different from talking to Morgana, but he felt weird talking to someone his own age with a sense of authority.

“Do you work at the forge as well?” Arthur asked.

“Just to help out my father. Soon my brother will be able to help out more, and then I can look for proper work elsewhere.”

“What’s your name?”

“Guinevere, My Lord.”

“Are you looking for work in the palace, Guinevere?” Arthur asked. His chest warmed a little as a thought sprung into his mind. Maybe there was something he could do to help Morgana. Then he wouldn’t have to endure the heavy silence at dinner alone anymore.

“I’d be happy to find work anywhere, Sire,” Guinevere said, smiling a little. The curls of hair around her face were golden in the morning light.

Suddenly, her brother Elyan reappeared, the blacksmith Tom in tow.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you myself, Sire,” Tom said. “I’m making excellent progress on your weapon. Would you like to see?”

Arthur nodded eagerly, then quickly added, “Uh, yes, very much so.”

Tom guided him through the forge. Elyan flinched away from Arthur’s guards, who were following the Prince closely. Guinevere pulled her brother into a hug from behind and moved him out of the way.

Tom explained the process of sword making and showed Arthur the blade, which was still being sharpened. As Arthur was leaving the forge, he turned back. Guinevere and Elyan were standing a little bit behind Tom. Arthur glanced at them before saying to Tom, “Will you be here tomorrow if I want to visit again?”

“Of course, Sire. We’d be happy to have you back.”

“Thank you. Goodbye,” Arthur said, looking over at Guinevere one last time.

\---

Uther was already seated at the table for lunch when Arthur entered. He quickly sat beside his father and started eating.

After talking about the council meeting Uther had attended that morning, and Arthur’s training, and anything but the heavy, obvious absence of Morgana, Arthur said, “Father, maybe it would help Morgana if she had her own maidservant to keep her company. I mean, it might help her nightmares.”

“Morgana has servants already who attend to her needs,” Uther said, though as he sipped from his cup his eyes were on Arthur, as though he were really listening to him.

“I just mean perhaps if she had a single person who helped her with everything, it would be easier for her.” _Like a friend_ , he wanted to say, but remained silent, knowing Uther’s attitude towards friendships between nobles and commoners.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the King said. “I should assign one of the servants a permanent position for Morgana.”

“I… met someone today who I think might do a good job of it,” Arthur said, his throat a little dry.

“Oh? And who is that?”

“Tom the blacksmith’s daughter. Guinevere.”

“She doesn’t work for the royal household,” Uther said dismissively.

“Yes, but her father is making my sword right now, so her family is employed by us. And she’s closer to Morgana’s age than our other servants. You know how Morgana refuses help from anyone – maybe it will be different with someone her own age.”

Uther chuckled. “It is true that there’s no one in this palace who can tell Morgana what to do. Alright, Arthur, if you bring this girl into the castle tomorrow then I will allow her to work for Morgana. But if she doesn’t meet the standards of our household, she will have to go.” _And you’ll be in trouble_.

Arthur swallowed. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Father.”

\---

Arthur visited Guinevere the next morning. When he’d told her they were hiring her, there had been many ‘thank yous’ and curtsies and beaming faces. Tom was bursting with pride. Arthur hadn’t realised a father could be so proud of his child.

\---

The day after that, Guinevere began work. Arthur brought her to Morgana’s chambers. He’d spoken to Morgana and she’d agreed to the idea of a personal maidservant. Arthur had even described Guinevere to Morgana until Morgana started laughing and teasing him about it.

Knowing that there was someone who would constantly be there to attend to her needs, Morgana reluctantly moved back to her chambers in the morning. Standing in her empty room without the reassuring sounds of Gaius’s potions brewing, though, sucked all the air from her lungs.

Arthur knocked on the door. Morgana opened it, and was a little confused for a few seconds looking at him. When had Arthur gotten taller than her?

“Morgana, this is your new maidservant, Guinevere,” Arthur said, gesturing to the nervous girl beside him.

“Hello, Guinevere,” Morgana said, smiling properly for the first time in a long time.

Guinevere curtsied. “My Lady.”

Morgana opened the door wider to let her in.

“I’ll see you later,” Arthur said to Morgana.

“Bye, Arthur,” Morgana said, closing the door after Guinevere entered. As soon as she shut it, Morgana felt tingly with fear. She was used to meeting people – fancy nobles visited the castle all the time, and Morgana was good at putting on a smile and greeting them politely. But her weeks of sleeplessness had left her worn. She didn’t have the energy to fake a smile and a look of calm control. Besides, this wasn’t a noble. This was a person her own age.

A girl her own age.

Guinevere was wearing a bright yellow dress. Her hands were tucked behind her back and her eyes were fixed on Morgana.

“What would you like me to help you with, My Lady?” she asked.

Morgana opened her mouth and stared. She couldn’t think of anything. What did servants usually help her with? For weeks she’d been lying in bed, literally being spoon-fed most of her meals. Now she was back on her feet (though who knew how long that would last), and it was like life before her nightmares didn’t exist. What was there to do all day except stare at the ceiling and drift in and out of sleep as she re-lived hearing the news of her father’s death over and over again?

“I’ve been unwell for several weeks,” Morgana said at last. “I’m a bit of a mess. Could you help me brush out my hair?”

“Of course!”

Morgana’s table was completely cluttered – her things had been moved back hastily this morning, and she hadn’t gotten the chance to sort everything out. But Guinevere found a brush, and with Morgana sitting in front of the mirror she slowly began brushing her hair. It was slow and soft, and in Morgana’s state she almost fell asleep. But knowing that her new maidservant was watching her kept her alert.

Throughout the day the two slowly became a little more comfortable with each other. Guinevere cleaned Morgana’s chambers, helped her change and clean herself up, and poured her drinks at dinner that night. For the first time in weeks Morgana chose to dine with Arthur and Uther. She wasn’t feeling entirely better and didn’t know what the night would bring, but Guinevere’s calming presence had reinvigorated her.

Arthur and Morgana quickly went back to their habit of teasing each other. With Morgana there, Uther relaxed a lot more. He allowed them to tease and laugh, and instead of discussing matters of state they spoke of fun things, like upcoming hunting trips and feasts.

Morgana was exhausted by the end of dinner. She didn’t want to show it, but after throwing Arthur one last retort and exiting the dining hall, she stumbled on her way up the stairs. Instantly a hand grabbed her arm, steadying her.

Morgana instinctively flinched away a bit.

“Are you okay, Milady?” Guinevere asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Morgana said, gripping the railing of the staircase. “Just tired. Will you help me get ready for bed?”

“Yes, of course.” Guinevere let go of Morgana’s arm, but she still hovered close by, like she was waiting to catch Morgana if she fell again.

\---

Gwen had been scared to start work in the royal household. She’d been scared of leaving Elyan unsupervised in the forges as well. Elyan had laughed at her for getting a good thing and doing nothing but worrying. She’d kicked him in the knee in response.

“I’ll work hard, Father, I promise,” Gwen had said that morning, preparing to leave.

“Gwen, I know you will,” Tom said, hugging her tightly. “You’ve done nothing but make me proud your whole life, and that will never change.”

Gwen smiled.

“Elyan, on the other hand…”

She laughed at that. “He’ll work hard! I know he will. Maybe this will be good for him. I feel bad leaving him behind, though.”

Tom chuckled. “You started helping me out in the forge when you were only 8. Elyan is 12! He’ll do fine, I’m sure.” He gripped his daughter’s shoulders. “And so will you.”

A few of Tom’s friends worked in the royal household. The day before Gwen had anxiously peppered them with questions, terrified by her first official job. She even talked to her friend Leon, whose father was one of the King’s knights, and who was close to becoming a knight himself.

“Will I have to do anything besides take care of Lady Morgana? Do I sleep in the castle? What if I get lost? How quickly could they sack me if I mess up?”

Everyone had tried to reassure her that she was a competent girl and would do an excellent job of everything. Since she would be spending a lot of time with Lady Morgana, she would quickly get to know the castle. The Lady’s chambers probably had a guest room for servants, but Gwen could still sleep at home if she wanted.

All Gwen wanted was to not mess this up. She wanted to make her father proud.

\---

When everything was prepared and her Lady was in bed, Gwen hovered anxiously. She didn’t know what came next. Could she leave? Did she have to wait for permission? When Prince Arthur had taken her to the castle, he had very vaguely explained that Morgana had been ill for a while now, and that she needed someone to keep her company. He thought that if she wasn’t alone she would feel better. But how could Gwen’s company cure an illness? What was wrong with Lady Morgana? The court physician had come by earlier to deliver a potion, but Gwen didn’t know what had been in the bottle.

“Is there anything else you need, Milady?” Gwen asked.

“No, thank you,” Morgana said.

“Okay.” Gwen blinked, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her sound stupid. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything. Or want anything! I didn’t mean that you needed me to call me. I mean, I’m happy to help. I’ll-I’ll be right there.”

Morgana smiled. “Thank you, Guinevere.”

Gwen nodded. “Good night.”

She took the candle from Lady Morgana’s bedside table and left the room. A couple of nights staying in the castle to get settled wouldn’t be so bad. She could explain to her father. Soon she’d be back in her house with Elyan throwing a pillow at her head every morning.

As she closed the door, she glanced back. Lady Morgana was lying back, her dark hair pooling around her head. The moonlight glimmered in her pale eyes, which were wide as she stared numbly into the darkness. Despite claiming to be, she didn’t look tired; everything about her was alert.

Frowning, Gwen left. In her own small room, she set down the candle, got into bed, and blew out the flame.

\---

A scream ripped Gwen from her sleep. She sat up, clutching the sheets tightly.

The scream had been Morgana’s. Had someone attacked her? Was Gwen supposed to do something about it?

She took a deep breath. She could feel her heartbeat in her chest, her throat, even her fingertips.

Gwen shut her eyes tightly for a moment, then got up and burst into Lady Morgana’s room.

“Milady?” she whispered. The moonlight from the window slanted across Morgana’s bed. Morgana was sitting upright, panting, tears glistening on her cheeks.

Gwen rushed forward, remembering the nightmares Elyan used to have when he was small.

She crawled onto the bed. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Gwen hesitated for a moment, then put an arm around Morgana’s shoulders. After a moment Morgana wrapped her arms around Gwen and clung tightly to her. Gwen felt warm tears drip on her shoulder as Morgana began to sob.

Morgana wept heavily, her chest shuddering, for a quarter of an hour. Gwen didn’t say anything, and she didn’t let go. She moved her hand up to the back of Morgana’s head and cradled it, her hand wrapped in glossy curls.

Eventually, Morgana pulled away from the hug. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to wipe the tears from her face. “I had a nightmare.”

“Is that what you meant when you said you’d been unwell?” Gwen ventured.

Morgana nodded. “They won’t stop,” she said, more tears forming.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Gwen asked.

“No, it’s okay,” Morgana said shakily, wiping her eyes again.

“I could stay until you fall asleep,” Gwen suggested. She stood and grabbed a chair from the table. Dragging it to Morgana’s bedside, she plunked it down and sat in it.

“You don’t need to stay, Guinevere,” Morgana croaked. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I don’t mind,” Gwen said. She reached out a hand. “I’ll just wait until you fall asleep.”

Morgana couldn’t quite manage a smile, but she did nod before curling back up under her blankets.

Gwen sat there until she fell asleep. She was there when Morgana woke up an hour later from another nightmare. She was there when Morgana drifted off to sleep again. When the sun rose, Gwen was still hunched in the chair by Morgana’s bed, chin resting on one hand while the other lay on the sheets by Morgana.

\---

After a week Morgana’s nightmares stopped. Every couple of months another would come, but with Gwen there the night didn’t seem as jagged and cold, and the dreams were less vivid.

It took Gwen months to get into the habit of calling Morgana ‘Morgana’ and not ‘My Lady’, despite Morgana reminding her constantly. Even then she would occasionally slip up and use her formal title. Morgana started calling her maid ‘Gwen’ a week into knowing her, and she never stopped.

\---

Not long after she turned 14, Morgana went on a pilgrimage to visit her father’s grave and commemorate the 4th anniversary of his death. Uther and Arthur usually went with her, but Uther had affairs of state to tend to, and Arthur was training or helping his father every moment of every day. So Morgana took Gwen instead. A few knights accompanied them on the trip.

Like usual, when she arrived Morgana kneeled before the stone marking her father’s grave, wished desperately for him to return, and remained on the ground until she was confident she had the strength to turn around and get back on her horse without crying. Public displays of mourning weren’t Morgana’s style.

She was quiet on the ride back. The others probably thought she was feeling sad, but what Morgana was really feeling was the emotion most constant to her in the past four years: fear. Her memories of Gorlois became fuzzier all the time. It sickened her to think that one day she may not even remember what it had been like to have a father.

\---

“Do you need anything else, Milady?” Gwen asked that night, after Morgana had laid down in bed.

Morgana didn’t reply. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“Morgana?”

Morgana’s jaw flexed, and she swallowed thickly, eyes stuck to the ceiling.

Gwen sat down on the bed beside her. She reached her hand out to place it on Morgana’s shoulder, but Morgana intercepted it with her own hand. She held Gwen’s hand tightly before closing her eyes.

Even though Morgana’s face slowly relaxed as she fell asleep, her grip on Gwen’s hand remained strong. Gwen blew out the candle on the nightstand and leant back against the bed’s headboard, her eyelids heavy as she held Morgana’s hand.

\---

Gwen woke with a start. It was still night, but barely. The room had gone from smooth blues and blacks to a watery grey. The sun would be rising soon.

She blinked and turned to her left. Morgana was fast asleep, a curl of hair falling across her pale face. She was buried snugly under the blankets, but her arm was out, fingers clinging limply to Gwen’s wrist.

Gwen knew she should get up and leave, but the bed was warm, and she was exhausted. Without really making a decision, she fell back asleep.

Morgana instinctively moved closer, still holding on to Gwen. Even in her sleep, Morgana knew that things would always be better with Gwen by her side.


	3. Peasants Waste Food by Throwing It All at Merlin

“Merlin!”

Merlin blinked and rolled over. The cell door creaked and Merlin sat up abruptly, brushing dirt and straw off his clothes.

Gaius walked in and Merlin leapt to his feet.

“You amaze me, Merlin. You were in Camelot for less than a day, and yet you still managed to behave like enough of an idiot to get thrown in the cells. What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re lucky,” Gaius said. “I managed to pull a few strings to get you released.”

“Oh, thank you!” Merlin stepped forward, grinning. “Thank you!”

Gaius looked at his new ward like he was a small, diseased rodent.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I won’t forget this.”

“Well,” Gaius said, still frowning, “there is a small price to pay.”

\---

Merlin winced, trying to readjust his wrists in the slots.

A crowd of children fanned out in front of the stocks, throwing rotten fruit at Merlin’s head. It was a really nice welcoming gesture. Merlin felt so at home in Camelot now.

He watched Gaius wander off towards the castle, chuckling.

Something hit Merlin’s forehead, and he twitched his neck, trying to shake off the hunk of whatever was on his face.

The children ran off for more crates of expired food. Merlin sighed, sagging against the stocks.

He turned his head when he saw a young woman walking towards him. She had a warm face with beautiful amber eyes.

The woman stopped in front of him. “I’m Guinevere,” she said, “but most people call me Gwen. I’m the Lady Morgana’s maid.”

“Right,” Merlin said, bending his wrist awkwardly to shake her hand. “I’m Merlin. Although, most people just call me Idiot.”

“No! No, no, I saw what you did. It was so brave.”

“It was stupid,” Merlin admitted.

“Well, I’m glad you walked away,” Gwen said. “You weren’t going to beat him.”

Merlin snorted. “Oh, I could’ve beaten him.”

Gwen frowned. “You think? Because you don’t look like one of these big, muscley kind of fellows.”

Merlin blinked. “Thanks.”

“No! No, I’m sure you’re stronger than you look,” Gwen said quickly. “It’s just… Arthur is one of these real rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and, well…”

“What?”

“You don’t look like that.”

Merlin pursed his lips, then nodded for Gwen to come closer. “I’m in disguise,” he whispered.

Gwen laughed. “Well, it’s great that you stood up to him.”

Merlin smiled. “What? You think so?”

“Arthur’s a bully,” Gwen said. “And everyone thought you were a real hero.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Gwen nodded. “Mm-hmm.” Gwen and Merlin just sort of stared and smiled at each other for a second more before the stampede of children returned.

“Oh, excuse me, Guinevere,” Merlin said. “My fans are waiting.”

Gwen smiled fondly and wandered off. Merlin shut his eyes as someone threw a tomato at his ear.

\---

Merlin arrived back in Gaius’s chambers, his clothes sticky with fruit juice. Gaius, who was seated at the table, looked up over his glasses. “Do you want some vegetables with that?”

“Ha ha,” Merlin said, taking off his scarf and wringing it out. “I know you’re still angry with me.”

“Your mother asked me to look after you,” said Gaius.

“Yes.” Merlin looked down. “I guess it’s not a very easy job.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gaius said. Merlin looked up and saw that Gaius was smirking a bit.

“I’ll go change my clothes.”

“Yes, please do that as quickly as possible, Merlin,” Gaius said, glancing distastefully at Merlin’s soiled outfit.

After Merlin got dressed, he walked into the central room. Gaius was turned away from him, still crushing herbs. “Gaius?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did the King start the Purge? Why does he prosecute people who are different?”

Gaius stopped crushing herbs. He turned around in his chair to look at his young ward. “No one knows for certain what made Uther begin the Purge and enact the New Religion so suddenly. But he believes that certain kinds of people pose a threat to his kingdom.”

Merlin leant back against the wall, his shoulders sagging. “Did- uh, did my mother’s letter explain why she sent me away?”

“She said you were struggling to fit in at your village,” said Gaius. At Merlin’s silence, he added, “I have a feeling I know what she’s referring to.”

Merlin swallowed. “I… um, I like women and men. You know, like that.”

Gaius nodded.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“Of course not, Merlin. I made a promise to your mother I would keep you safe, and that is what I intend to do.”

“Thank you.”

Gaius finished crushing his herbs and poured the powder into a phial. “Will you deliver this to Sir Ector?”

Merlin nodded and tucked the tiny bottle into his pocket. Sir Ector lived in the lower town. As Merlin was walking back to the castle he saw Prince Arthur out of the corner of his eye, surrounded by his goonish friends.

“How’s your knee-walking coming along?” Arthur called out. Merlin turned and went in the other direction.

“Ah, don’t run away!” said Arthur, grinning. Merlin froze, grinding his teeth together. “What, from you?”

“Thank God,” said Arthur. “I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”

“Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass,” said Merlin, turning to face Arthur. “I just didn’t realize you’re a royal one.”

Arthur didn’t look angry at Merlin’s words -- instead, he was wearing a crooked grin. Merlin glanced around, taking in Arthur’s men surrounding him. “Oh, what are you going to do? Get your daddy’s men to protect you?”

Arthur laughed in bewilderment. Merlin scowled, his eyes fixed on Arthur. The guards were snickering. In a moment of reckless resolve, Merlin stripped off his jacket. Arthur burst out laughing.

One of Arthur’s guards handed him a pair of maces, one of which Arthur threw to Merlin, saying, “Here you go!” Merlin leapt out of the way and the mace landed in the dust in front of him. He bent to pick it up, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur in case he decided to attack straight away.

Arthur started swinging his mace. “Come on, then. I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

“Wow,” said Merlin, fiddling with his mace. “And how long have you been training to be a prat?”

Arthur huffed in surprise, not sure what to say in response. “You can’t address me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Merlin, eyes still on his mace. He turned his gaze up and said, “How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lord?”

\---

The fight, predictably, did not go well. Merlin had been so angry at Arthur that he hadn’t felt fear until Arthur took the first swing at his head. Then it became Merlin tripping over stalls and awkwardly avoiding the swing of his own mace almost as much as Arthur’s.

Merlin lasted longer than he thought he would, mostly because he was small and quick. Soon, though, Arthur took a swing, and to avoid a hit Merlin leapt backwards, crashing into a pile of crates. Arthur’s mace still managed to catch him on his shoulder, and as Merlin fell back on the crates, his own mace clattering away, Arthur’s guards bent down and grabbed Merlin. They hauled him to his feet, and he knew he was about to spend another night in prison.

Over Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin caught a glimpse of Gaius standing in the crowd. He looked utterly disappointed, and shame blossomed in Merlin’s chest, almost as bad as the sting on his shoulder.

“Wait,” Arthur said, eyes on his guards. “Let him go. He may be an idiot, but he’s a brave one.”

As the men released their grip on Merlin, Arthur stepped towards Merlin. His intense gaze made Merlin shiver. “There’s something about you, Merlin,” Arthur mumbled. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Then he turned and disappeared with his guards.

Merlin lowered his head and moved through the crowd until he reached Gaius. He followed his guardian silently back to their chambers.

As the door shut behind them, Gaius shouted, “How could you be so foolish?”

“I’m sorry!”

“A person such as yourself should have learnt to keep his head down by now! What if you had been arrested again? Or hurt? You expect me to break that kind of news to your mother?”

“He needed to be taught a lesson.”

“And that’s your responsibility?”

“Yes!” snapped Merlin. “No one else was doing anything about it. Just because he’s a royal doesn’t mean he can treat people like shit!”

“Merlin-”

“I see people like him treat people like me that way all the time. You expect me to stand by and do nothing?”

Gaius sighed. “Sit down, Merlin.”

“Why?” Merlin said, scowling.

“I want to treat your wounds.”

Merlin sat down on Gaius’s bench, his shoulders tense. Gaius sat down beside him, holding a bowl of water and a cloth. “Let me see where he hit you.”

Merlin took his shirt off and threw it at his feet, then kicked it away. He flinched as Gaius cleaned the cut on his shoulder where Arthur had hit him with the mace. His back also had bruises from falling on the crates.

As Gaius washed the blood off his shoulder and applied a greyish paste to his wounds, Merlin said, “I hate being like this.”

“What do you mean?” Gaius asked.

“I hate always having to stay out of trouble and hide who I am. My mother always told me we are who we are and we shouldn’t want to change, and I don’t mind being the way I am, but I hate my life because of it.”

“All we can do is work with what we’re given, Merlin,” said Gaius. “Wishing for something else won’t get you anywhere.”

“And you don’t know why I was born like this?”

Gaius shook his head.

“I’m not a monster, am I?”

Gaius gave him a hard glare. “Don’t ever think that.”

“Why not? That’s what the King has been saying all along, right? That’s why he started the New Religion. Besides, the only people I ever meet like me are people I see being driven out of town or executed. I feel like I’m all alone.”

“There was no one like you in Ealdor?” Gaius asked as he retrieved Merlin’s shirt from where Merlin had kicked it across the room.

“I mean…” Merlin faltered. After pulling his shirt back on, he said, “There was my-my… Will. There was my friend, Will. We were together for a little while. But my mother thought it would be good for me to come here, to Camelot. Will didn’t want to go to another kingdom.”

“I see.”

“Apart from Will, it feels like there’s nobody else. In this castle, it’s just people like Uther who hate people like me. I just- Why am I like this? And why does Uther hate us so much?”

Gaius sat back down on the bench beside Merlin. “It’s hard to say what made Uther put the law in place 20 years ago. But as for feeling alone, Merlin -- you aren’t. I’m sure there are more people who disagree with Uther’s mandate than you know. Just because the King drives people to hide does not mean he can drive them out of existence altogether.”

Merlin shoulders sagged, and he rested his elbow on his legs, cupping his face in his hands. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Gaius hesitated before saying, “Merlin, your mother might have told you that I grew up in a village not far from Ealdor. When I was very young my parents took me to the forests of Camelot, where there was once a high concentration of druid people.” He paused. “I am a man, Merlin.”

“Yeah, I can see that, Gaius.”

“Well, not everyone used to.”

Merlin sat up, more focused on the story.

“You may have seen magic before,” Gaius continued. “Healers, or performers, or those who perform sly tricks in hope of procuring a few coins. This is nothing like the magic of the druids. Their power is connected to the sea and sky and every part of the world. It runs deep in their people. When I was young… my body did not match the way I perceived myself. The druids are able to help people like me; they perform magic that can transform a person’s body. I left the forest happier than I had ever been before. This sort of service is one of the reasons why Uther prosecutes the druid people. He fears their power.”

Merlin gaped. “I… didn’t know they could do anything like that.”

“They can’t now,” said Gaius. “Uther has driven them into hiding. But they still exist. There are people out there who oppose Uther. They may one day have the power to make him change his mind. But until then, Merlin, you must remember that people do exist who support people like you and me. And as foolish as you may be, now that you are in my care I will do whatever I can to protect you.” Gaius gave Merlin a small smile. Merlin smiled back.

“Now,” Gaius stood up, “there are many deliveries for you, seeing as you slacked off and got very few done yesterday.”

“I was in prison!”

“And whose fault was that?”

Gaius explained the list of patients and handed Merlin a few phials, which Merlin slipped into his pockets. “Once you get back, I have a patient in the lower town with palsy, and I would like it if you accompanied me. But first you must deliver all of these. Oh, and don’t forget this.” He handed Merlin one more potion. “Deliver it to Lady Morgana. Poor girl’s suffering from nightmares again.”

Merlin stuffed it in his pocket. As he was heading out, he turned back. “Gaius?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Gaius smiled. “Thank you for listening, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come visit me at roostercrowedatmidnight on tumblr. i like friends


	4. Preventing Murder = Promotion to Sucky Job

After wandering around the endlessly identical halls of the castle for a while, Merlin walked up a set of curved steps, entered a hallway, and approached a room with an open door. He was about to knock and announce himself when he saw the person in the room.

She was turned away from him, adjusting the shoulder of her dress in front of the mirror. Her hair cascaded in curls down her back, popping against the blue of her outfit and the white of her neck. Merlin’s words dried up in his mouth as he watched her toss back her hair. He’d encountered very few royals in his life, and so far they’d all fallen short of his expectations. But this woman was everything he’d ever pictured aristocracy to be, with elegant movements and soft but incredibly distinct features. Her eyes were pale in the sunlight, her eyebrows thick and graceful, and Merlin couldn’t recall seeing anyone who’d ever looked quite as breathtaking.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about Arthur,” Lady Morgana said, walking behind the screen in the corner. “I wouldn’t touch him with a lance pole. Pass me that dress, will you, Gwen?”

Merlin blinked and looked wildly around the room. He still couldn’t form words, so instead of correcting her, Merlin found the dress and slinked quietly to the screen at the back of the room.

“I mean, the man’s a total jouster,” Morgana continued. “And just because I’m the King’s ward, that doesn’t mean I have to accompany him to the feast, does it?”

Merlin draped the dress over it and tiptoed away, trying to get to the door stealthily but extremely quickly.

“Well, does it?” Morgana repeated.

“Mmh-mmh,” Merlin said quickly, trying to pitch his voice higher than normal.

“If he wants me to go,” said Morgana from behind the screen, “then he should invite me, and he hasn’t. So do you know what that means?”

“Mmh-mmh,” Merlin repeated, looking around for somewhere to hide, or really anything that he could latch on to and escape this mess.

“Where are you?” Morgana peeked over the screen, and Merlin quickly grabbed another piece of clothing from the table and held it up in front of his face.

“Here,” he said shrilly.

“It means I’m going by myself,” Morgana carried on. Merlin put the clothes down and hurried towards the door.

“I need some help with this fastening.”

Merlin spun around, his chest fluttering in a panic.

“Gwen?” asked Morgana.

“I’m here.”

Merlin turned to see Gwen in the doorway. She gave him a puzzled look and he gestured vaguely around the room like that offered any sort of explanation. Gwen smirked. As she walked in and crossed the room to help Morgana, she looked back and Merlin smiled again, raising his arms helplessly before walking out.

\---

The dining hall was bursting with people for the feast that night, nobles gorging themselves on fruits and meats and thick slices of bread as servants hovered all around, ready to refill a glass or hand over a plate at a moment’s notice. It was dark outside, but the room was glowing with light and life.

Merlin stood in the corner, holding a pitcher of water. He knew he should be doing something with the pitcher, like pouring water for people or something, but the room was too colourful and chaotic and breathtaking for him to focus, so he remained stationary, watching everything.

Well, not everything. Mostly he was looking at the head table, where Morgana and Arthur sat with Uther. Morgana looked absolutely radiant. And Merlin didn’t want to admit it, but Arthur wasn’t looking too bad tonight either.

Gaius hovered behind him, mildly disappointed in his sweet but overall hopeless mess of a ward.

Gwen walked over from one of the tables, holding a pitcher like Merlin’s, though hers was half empty. Since she’d been, you know, actually doing her job.

“You alright, Merlin?” Gwen asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, fine,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the head table.

Behind him, Gaius rolled his eyes.

“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do,” Merlin admitted with a laugh.

“Well, you could start by actually pouring water into people’s cups,” Gwen suggested.

“... Right.”

Gwen led him around the different tables. Whenever someone’s goblet was looking empty, she would point it out to Merlin, and he would fill it up, though mostly he just poured water onto the table.

“Sorry,” Merlin said for the dozenth time, ducking his head and backing away quickly after spilling on a woman’s sleeve.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Gwen said, touching his elbow lightly. “You’ll get better.”

“Hopefully I start improving before I get sacked,” he joked.

“Do you even have a job?” Gwen asked.

Merlin frowned.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” she added quickly. “I just mean that, well, you said Gaius was looking for a position for you. Are you officially employed now?”

“Not yet,” Merlin admitted. “I don’t have many skills applicable to pampering royalty. Gaius is looking, though.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll find something,” Gwen told him with a smile.

Talking in the room started fizzling out. Gwen and Merlin looked around and both noticed that the King was rising from his chair. The two returned to stand in the corner by Gaius, who hadn’t moved the entire evening.

“Before we continue with our feast,” Uther stated, “I would like to thank you all for being here tonight to join in our celebrations. 20 years ago, the New Religion was established, and sin purged from our land. Though efforts always continue to rid ourselves of lawbreakers, I think it can be said that we have had the privilege of living in a time of prosperity.”

Merlin tore his eyes away from the King and looked around at all the nobles, plates full of food. “Why don’t you get a place at the feast?” Merlin whispered to Gaius.

“What?” Gaius said in bewilderment.

“You aren’t here to serve tables like Gwen and I,” said Merlin. “You’re also the King’s advisor. Why didn’t you get a place at the feast?”

“Hush, Merlin.”

“The celebrations will continue throughout the week,” Uther continued. “I look forward to seeing all of you there.” Everyone clapped as the King sat back down.

“Seriously, though,” Merlin muttered over the applause. “Why haven’t you been invited to sit with everyone else?”

“Feasts are for knights and nobles, Merlin,” Gaius replied. “I may be an advisor to the King, but I am not of noble blood, and I never will be.”

“That’s rubbish!” Merlin said. “What, is everyone at this feast noble?”

“A few of the knights aren’t,” Gaius admitted. “It’s not a requirement to become a knight, though it certainly helps.”

“So they get to sit at the feast and you don’t,” Merlin said.

“It’s the way it must be. Now quit grumbling. You’re here to work.”

“You’re not,” Merlin said. “Why did you want to come tonight?”

“Though it may shock you, Merlin, I enjoy spending time at a party — even one I have not been invited to — more than I enjoy sitting in my chambers mixing potions to treat fungal infections.”

“Fair,” said Merlin.

“I was also worried what would happen to you if no one was here to keep an eye on you,” Gaius added, casting a sharp look.

“I’m staying out of trouble!” Merlin complained. “Just doing my job. Pouring water. Working hard.”

“Uh huh.”

Merlin flashed Gaius a mischievous grin before rejoining Gwen in pouring drinks. Occasionally Merlin would look over at the head table, where Lady Morgana was picking at her food, her attitude not matching the warmth and joy of the room. Arthur was also looking a little uptight, his back painfully straight every time his father turned to look at him.

Something behind the prince caught Merlin’s eye. He abruptly stopped pouring, leaving a nobleman’s cup only half full, and casually wandered closer to the head table.

There was a serving boy standing behind the royals. He was holding a pitcher in one hand, not making a move to refill anyone’s drinks. Unlike Merlin, though, he didn’t look lost or confused — his eyes were fixed pointedly on Prince Arthur’s back. Merlin hovered close to the table, trying to blend in, which wasn’t really his forte. At least he tried, though.

Then the serving boy reached with his free hand into his jacket, and as he slowly withdrew his hand, Merlin saw something gleaming in his grip.

He didn’t know what compelled him to move so quickly, but Merlin ran forwards. As the serving boy pulled out the knife and lunged towards Arthur, Merlin tossed his pitcher. Water spattered through the air. Then, miraculously, the pitcher actually reached the general area Merlin had been aiming for. It hit the boy’s shoulder while Merlin had been aiming for his head, but Merlin still considered it a victory, since in his hands, a hastily thrown object could have gone practically anywhere.

The boy looked up in surprise, and Merlin tackled him. It was kind of a stupid move, Merlin reflected on as they both hit the ground. He could have landed right on top of the knife, and it would have really killed the mood of the evening for him. Fortunately, in his shock the serving boy had fumbled and dropped the blade.

The guards standing behind the table, who really hadn’t been doing much up to this point, hauled the serving boy up, one retrieving his knife from the ground. Arthur, Morgana and Uther were all on their feet. Arthur had his hand hovering over the sword at his belt, and Morgana was clutching a fork like she was about to stab it into someone’s eye.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Uther demanded. Everyone was staring at the serving boy. He was about Merlin’s age. His face was angular, like he still needed to grow into it. His blue eyes were dark with fury as he struggled against the guards’ hold on him.

Merlin stood and moved awkwardly to the side.

“You killed my brother Thomas,” the serving boy snarled. “Why the hell did you do that? He was my brother. He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“And now you come here intending to commit treason just like him,” Uther said coldly.

“My brother was all I had, and you murdered him. Why shouldn’t you get the same? And everyone knows,” the boy said, tears starting to form despite the glare on his face, “that Uther Pendragon cares for nothing and no one apart from his son.”

“Take him to the dungeon,” Uther barked. The guards dragged the boy away. Merlin leapt out of their way and watched as they walked off, his heartbeat throbbing violently in his throat as the fact slowly settled on him that he’d almost witnessed a murder.

“You saved my boy’s life,” Uther said, and Merlin turned, realising the King was looking at him.

“Oh, really, Your Highness, it was nothing,” said Merlin, a little uncomfortable now that a roomful of eyes was on him.

“Nonsense,” said The King. “The debt must be repaid. This merits something quite special.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“You shall be awarded a position in the Royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur’s manservant!”

Applause filled the room.

Arthur looked completely disgusted, glaring at his father. Merlin tried not to show it, but he felt pretty disgusted as well.

\---

“I save his life, and now I have to work pouring his drinks and polishing his boots? What sort of ‘thank you’ is that?”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. A job is exactly what you wanted,” Gaius said as they entered their chambers.

“Yeah, but not one working for Prince Arthur. He’s terrible!”

“Give him some time,” said Gaius. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

Merlin snorted. “I doubt it.”

Gaius sat down at the table and put on his reading glasses. A thick tome with drawings of plants lay open in front of him. As he started to read, he added, “Best get to bed now. I’m sure Arthur will want your assistance bright and early tomorrow.”

Merlin sighed and wandered off to his room, muttering, “Can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. but now get ready for the good stuff


	5. Merlin Picks Up a Hot Man in the Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah it's lancelot time

After a week and a half of working for Arthur, Merlin came to the conclusion that life sucked, he needed a good union, and the fact that royalty didn’t know how to dress themselves was and would always be weird.

Merlin also discovered that after almost two decades spent in the neverending cycle of helping out in the fields, exploring secret hiding places in the hills, and hiding his true identity from everyone he knew, his brain craved to learn something new. After a few days, he understood Arthur’s full routine. He quickly learnt how to clean -- and dress someone in -- armour, what Arthur liked to eat and which meals he ate in the dining hall and bedroom, the clothes Arthur needed for different occasions, and how to keep hold of his job while still managing to get on Arthur’s nerves.

On top of working for Arthur, Merlin was still expected to help Gaius out, whether that was cleaning up the burns and stains their chambers suffered due to Gaius’s chemical experiments, or assisting him in attending to patients. Merlin had expected to detest this addition to his work load, especially since it meant he was constantly surrounded by people who were either sick or bleeding profusely. Strangely, though, he absolutely loved it; Ealdor had a healer who lived nearby, but her work was mostly of a magical nature with less reliance on the scientific method, and she also rarely let anyone watch her work. With Gaius, though, Merlin learnt how to clean wounds, check for infection, listen to the quality of someone’s breathing, and identify healing herbs based on the texture of their leaves. Merlin had never realized before how much he loved to learn.

Though Camelot had at first appeared loud and chaotic, Merlin quickly adjusted to living in the city. Besides, whenever he started to feel overwhelmed, he was never far from the woods. Merlin’s life started to fall into a reliable pattern. He worked for Arthur. He got bullied by Arthur. He complained about Arthur to Gaius. He collected mushrooms. He joked awkwardly with Gwen in the hallways. He blocked out fears of being imprisoned and beheaded. He delivered sleeping draughts to Lady Morgana. He read books about intestinal parasites.

Strangely, remarkably, life was good.

Then Lancelot arrived, and the intricately-woven pattern of Merlin’s new life was torn to shreds.

\---

The bad thing about being a physician is that your work is never done. There is always someone sick who needs your help. Or maybe that’s a good thing? You’re never going to reach a point where you feel like you’re not needed. An endless call for help also means an endless call for medical supplies. For the fourth morning in a row, Gaius had sent Merlin out to collect herbs. Since he needed to be back in time to deliver Arthur’s breakfast, Merlin had to head out into the woods at a sickeningly early hour.

It was late spring, so the sun was up and the day already beautiful, but Merlin still preferred the idea of lying in his warm bed to crouching in the cold dirt, looking for comfrey leaves.

As he collected his supplies, struggling to keep his eyes open and vision focused, a screech sounded through the trees.

Merlin twisted around, falling back to the ground. A massive creature was loping through the forest. It had the head of a falcon, with a sharp beak and glinting yellow eyes, but its grey body was more cat-like. A pair of wings burst from its back, tucked against the sides of its body as it ran towards Merlin.

Merlin stood and took off through the trees. He made it across a meadow before he stumbled -- he’d been running too fast to properly place his feet on the ground.

As he hit the forest floor the breath was knocked out of his lungs, so that his chest was left empty, apart from the furious beating of his heart. Merlin flipped over and tried to scoot away, but the creature had already reached him. It reared up like a stallion, long claws glimmering.

Then somebody leapt in front of Merlin.

The man held a sword, and as he swiped with it the beast jumped back. He lunged forward and landed a blow, but instead of wounding the animal, the contact caused the blade to shatter.

The man turned to Merlin, helped him to his feet, and shouted, “Run!”

Then Merlin was sprinting again, the stranger by his side. As they approached a large log, the stranger said, “Jump!”

The two bounded over the log, and the man quickly pulled Merlin down after so that they were hidden behind it.

Merlin heard thunderous footsteps, and then the log trembled as the creature pushed off against it. Merlin looked up to see it take off, wings beating as it disappeared over the treetops.

Merlin sagged back against the log, trying to catch his breath. Then he looked to the man who had rescued him. He had dark brown hair which swept to his chin and warm brown eyes. His skin was a little darker than Merlin’s. He was also more muscular than Merlin, but still slim -- not the burly, broad-chested muscle of many of Arthur’s knights.

Merlin’s voice caught a little as he said, “You saved my life.”

The man was looking at him, but his gaze was unfocused. Suddenly his eyes flickered close and his head slumped to the side. Startled, Merlin looked down and noticed a shard of the shattered sword sticking out of the man’s gut.

Merlin had never been very strong, but a surge of need went through his veins. Though clumsily and slowly, he managed to pick up the stranger and carry him out of the forest and into the citadel.

As he crossed the square, Merlin saw Gwen catch sight of him. She ran towards him.

“What happened?” she cried.

“I need help getting him to Gaius,” Merlin said. Gwen nodded and spoke to a guard, who took the unconscious man in his own arms and followed Merlin into the castle, Gwen by his side.

“Are you alright?” Gwen asked him.

“I’m fine. Something attacked us in the forest, though. He was injured saving me.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Merlin.

They reached the physician’s chambers. Luckily, Gaius was there. As the guard set the injured stranger down on the bed and left, Merlin said, “Gaius, we need help.”

Gaius got up and hurried towards the bed. “What happened?”

“We were attacked in the forest,” Merlin explained. “By some sort of creature. When he hit it with his sword, the blade shattered. Some of it went into his stomach.”

Gaius nodded. “Merlin, pass me my medicine bag. Gwen, would you grab the bandages from over there?”

The three of them patched up the man’s wound. Gwen soon had to leave to attend to Lady Morgana, but she asked Merlin to let her know how the patient’s recovery went.

“He’s in no danger now,” Gaius said, rising from his chair.

“I can move him to my bed,” Merlin offered.

“Sure you can manage?”

Merlin shrugged. “I carried him all the way here, didn’t I?”

“As I recall, the guard was the one carrying him in, not you. But very well. Be careful of his bandages.”

Merlin nodded, lifted the man, and gently carried him to his own chambers. He set him down on the bed and pulled the blankets over top of him.

Though he was pale from blood loss, the man was still incredibly beautiful. Merlin found himself staring at him for a few seconds before a thought jolted him to run out the door.

“I’m late with Arthur’s breakfast!” Merlin called over his shoulder as he rushed into the hallway.

\---

Later that morning the King held an audience. Residents from a nearby village had come to the city talking about a monster which had swooped down from the sky and ripped apart several of their neighbours. Merlin and Gwen stood at the side of the room as the audience with the King was underway, and when the villagers described the creature, Gwen looked up at Merlin and whispered, “Is that what attacked you?”

Merlin nodded.

The thought of Merlin’s body being ripped open flashed through Gwen’s mind, and she shifted a little closer to her friend.

\---

In the afternoon Arthur went out to train, and Merlin was finally able to sneak back to his chambers to check on the stranger. The main room was empty when Merlin arrived — Gaius must still be out attending to patients. Merlin walked to his room and quietly pushed open the door.

The stranger had his eyes closed, a lock of dark hair lying across his forehead. When the door creaked, however, his eyes opened.

Merlin stepped inside. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” the man said, sitting up in bed. “Where am I?”

“Physician’s chambers in the castle,” Merlin said. “You were injured fighting the creature in the forest. Thank you, by the way. For saving me.”

“Of course,” the man said. “I was happy to help. My name is Lancelot.”

“I’m Merlin.” Merlin offered his hand and they shook. Lancelot’s brown eyes surveyed Merlin’s chambers.

“Where are you from?” Merlin asked.

“A long time ago I was from a village in another kingdom,” Lancelot replied. “It was destroyed when I was very young. I’ve not stayed in a single place for long since then.”

“What happened to your family?” Merlin asked quietly.

“They were killed,” Lancelot said, looking down. “Our village was slaughtered. All I was able to do was run and hide.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin mumbled, sitting lightly at the foot of the bed. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Since then,” Lancelot continued, “I vowed to never let myself stand defenceless in the face of tyranny again. I’ve devoted my life to the sword.” He nodded to the broken blade, which Merlin had brought back and propped against the wall by the bed. “It is the reason I came to Camelot.”

“What do you mean?”

Lancelot looked up. “I wish to become a knight. I want to defend those who cannot defend themselves.”

“Like me,” Merlin joked.

“I believe that nothing is more honourable than helping others,” Lancelot said.

Merlin’s gaze roamed over Lancelot. He’d met a lot of knights since moving to Camelot — most seemed to care more about the attention honourable actions brought them than the honour itself. Lancelot didn’t seem like that at all. He was confident, but not arrogant; his confidence seemed to lie in his belief that it was his duty to pursue the most honourable life possible.

“I think you’d make a fantastic knight,” Merlin told him. “I’m sure the King would agree.”

Lancelot leant forwards, his attention captured. “Is there a way I could seek an audience with the King?”

Merlin scratched his ear. “I’m not sure about that. But you don’t need to: Prince Arthur is the one who’s in charge of the knights, not the King.”

“Do you know how I could meet the Prince?”

“Well…” Merlin cocked his head to the side. “I suppose I could mention you to him.”

“You know Prince Arthur?”

“I’m sort of his manservant,” said Merlin, flashing a sly smile.

Lancelot’s face split into a grin. “I will be forever in your debt, my friend.”

“In my debt?” Merlin gave a huff of laughter. “You’re the one who saved me, remember?”

“And you brought me here to be healed,” Lancelot said. “I am very grateful.”

Merlin’s face felt warm. “I was happy to help.” He stood. “Uh, I should get back to work. You’re welcome to stay here and rest, if you like.”

“You’ll be back?” Lancelot asked.

“Yes. Not until this evening. But yes.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you this evening, Merlin.”

Merlin’s chest fluttered a little. “Gaius will probably be back soon. He’s the physician. You can talk to him if your wound hurts.” He turned and headed for the door. Then he turned back and added, “Goodbye, Lancelot.”

\---

Not all knights were nobles, Merlin was reminded after talking to Arthur. But most knights were nobles.

Merlin had a feeling Lancelot was no noble. This meant, according to the fucked up way of the world, that because he wasn’t in a position of privilege, he would have to work three times as hard to get what he wanted. And that started with looking the part.

“Arthur said he’d meet you, but you have to give off a good impression,” Merlin said as he guided Lancelot through the lower town. “He knows you’re not a noble, but he’ll still expect you to act like one. If you look like one as well, then half the work’s already done.”

“It won’t matter what I’m wearing if I don’t have a sword,” Lancelot pointed out. “I’m sure Prince Arthur will expect me to come to training fully prepared.”

“That’s why Gwen is the perfect person to go to,” Merlin said. “She is one of the best seamstresses in Camelot and she’s the blacksmith’s daughter. She’ll be able to get you clothes and a sword.”

“She’s willing to help me?” Lancelot asked as they approached Gwen’s house. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience her.”

“Don’t worry. Gwen’s my friend -- she’ll help.”

He knocked on the door, and after a moment Gwen opened it. It was still morning, and behind Gwen Merlin could see an empty plate on the table -- she must have just had breakfast.

“Merlin,” she said with a smile.

“Hi. You said this morning worked for you, right?”

“Yes, of course. Come in.”

“Thanks. Oh, Gwen, this is Lancelot.” Merlin moved away from the door so that Lancelot could step forward. Lancelot offered his hand. When Gwen took it, he held hers gently instead of shaking it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Milady.”

Gwen had a beautiful smile. It was one of the reasons why Merlin felt so good every time he caught sight of her. The smile she gave Lancelot, though, was brighter than any Merlin had seen from her in weeks. He smirked a little.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lancelot,” Gwen said.

Merlin stood there, waiting. It took Gwen a few more seconds to pull her hand away. “Come in.”

Gwen’s house was small and sparse, but there were always flowers sitting somewhere, and the space hummed with warmth and familial love.

Gwen measured Lancelot and showed him some material. While she worked, Merlin sat at Gwen’s table and watched the two of them.

For a while his eyes were fixed on Gwen: the way she smiled and laughed, awkward around Lancelot but at the same time able to glide gently from one exchange to the next. Then he turned his attention on Lancelot.

Like Gwen, he had gentle eyes. He paid careful attention whenever someone spoke to him, absorbing every word they said. There was an intense calm to him, but from the way his excitement leaked out in his words and smile when he talked about the knights of Camelot, you could tell that Lancelot’s dream meant more to him than anything in the world.

When Merlin and Lancelot left Gwen, with her promising to get Lancelot his new clothes and his sword to him in a couple of days, and Lancelot thanking her profusely, she flashed him another glowing smile.

When Lancelot smiled in return, a strange coldness seeped into Merlin’s stomach. Suddenly, he wanted to get away from Gwen’s house, and drag Lancelot with him. After they left, though, and made their way back to the castle, Lancelot turned to Merlin and smiled at him. Somehow, the look he gave Merlin carried even more affection than the one he’d offered Gwen. The coldness disappeared from Merlin’s stomach, and a hot buzzing filled his chest instead.

\---

“This one is Eleanor. Oh, and this is Percy.” Merlin gestured to his tiny pear tree.

“You... name all your plants?” Lancelot asked. They were back in Gaius’s chambers, and Merlin was giving Lancelot a tour of the physician’s potted plant collection.

“Of course I name them!” Merlin said. “Gaius asked me to look after them. This motivates me to take better care of them -- it’s very difficult to let something die once it has a name.”

“Even a pear tree?”

Merlin nodded solemnly. “Even a pear tree.”

“Why does Gaius have so many plants?” Lancelot asked.

“Well,” said Merlin, perching on the edge of a table, “he believes that if we water and change the soil regularly, we could successfully grow herbs in here, even in winter. A lot of plants with medicinal properties die out from cold weather.”

Lancelot nodded, sitting on the table top right beside Merlin. “That makes sense.”

Lancelot was incredibly close to Merlin. Usually his iris and pupil blended into one uniform colour, but sitting this close to him, with pale afternoon light filtering through the window, Merlin could see the amber flecks ringing the centre of Lancelot’s eye, separating the two sections.

Merlin swallowed. “I haven’t shown you the parsley yet.”

Merlin felt the totality of Lancelot’s stare like a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“No, you haven’t,” Lancelot said softly.

Merlin knew he should keep talking, or do something, but his mind was blank. His lips tingled.

Gaius pushed through the door, and Merlin stood up abruptly. “Gaius! I was just telling Lancelot about your plants.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow as he set down his bag. “I see.”

“Your pear tree is lovely,” Lancelot offered.

Gaius smirked. “Thank you, Lancelot.” He hurried across the room and climbed the stairs to his book collection. “There’s been another attack in a nearby village.”

“The same creature?” Merlin asked.

“Yes. I need to find out what it is before it hurts more people.” Gaius pulled out a couple of books. “Merlin, you should probably be seeing to Arthur.”

“Uh, yes, I should.” He turned to Lancelot. “I’ll be back later.”

Lancelot gave Merlin a soft smile. “I will see you then, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered.

Gaius came back down the stairs. “Lancelot, I could use your help looking through these books.”

“I… can’t read,” Lancelot admitted.

“That’s fine. Most of them have illustrations.”

Merlin headed for the door, smiling at Lancelot one last time. As he did he passed Gaius, and his guardian gave him a look. It wasn’t a mean look, or a patronizing look. It carried a word of caution, though Gaius’s looks always did. No, the look wasn’t any type of judgement. All it was really saying was, _I know_.

 _Know what?_ Merlin thought to himself as he hurried to Arthur’s chambers. It didn’t take much reflection for him to admit that he knew, too.

\---

That afternoon, Morgana walked into her room to find Gwen holding a pile of folded laundry. She wasn’t folding it, or putting it away, or doing much of anything at all. She was just stood there, holding the clothes and staring blankly at the wall.

Morgana crept closer. “Gwen?”

Gwen turned to her, and for a split second her eyes still carried the dreamy emptiness of not being quite there. Then she opened her mouth in shocked realization and breathlessly said, “Milady, I’m sorry, I was just putting these away.”

“It’s fine, Gwen,” Morgana said reassuringly.

Gwen hurried to put the clothes in the wardrobe, and Morgana, smirking as she sat down in front of her mirror, said, “What were you thinking about that kept you so distracted?”

“Oh,” Gwen said, blushing and trying to put on a neutral expression, “nothing.”

As Morgana pulled out her pinned-up curls, she made eye contact with Gwen’s reflection in the mirror.

“Are you sure?” she teased.

Gwen walked over to Morgana and picked up a brush from the table. She started running it through Morgana dark hair. “I was just thinking about some clothes I need to prepare for someone.”

“Clothes?”

“Mmh-hmm. Merlin has a new friend who wants to become a knight. He needed suitable clothes, so Merlin asked if I could help.”

“Oh, really?” Morgana raised an eyebrow. “And who is this friend of his? The only times I ever see Merlin with anybody is when he’s tagging after Arthur.”

“His name is Lancelot.”

When Gwen said that, Morgana’s shoulders tensed up a little. She’d thought Gwen was being so spacey because she was thinking about Merlin. Morgana could tell Gwen had a bit of a crush on Merlin ever since he’d arrived a couple of months ago, though luckily the feelings didn’t appear to be reciprocated. The way Gwen said the name of Camelot’s new visitor, though, made Morgana realize that it wasn’t sewing patterns or Merlin that Gwen had been thinking about -- it was a man, fit to be a knight, and someone who may right now be distracted thinking about Gwen just like she was thinking about him.

Morgana didn’t know why, but the idea of this twisted her stomach painfully. Maybe it was just because she’d never met this Lancelot, and therefore hadn’t yet determined whether he was good enough for Gwen.

Making a note to find Lancelot in the coming days and accurately assess whether he was a flawless human being worthy of Gwen’s perfection or a piece of trash that Morgana would have to mercilessly eliminate, she smiled up at Gwen and said, “I’m sure he’ll be very grateful for your help.”

Gwen smiled and tucked a clump of hair behind Morgana’s ear. “How was your lunch?” she asked as she kept brushing.

“Fine.” Morgana sighed. “Uther and Arthur are planning a jousting tournament to be held in honour of Arthur’s crowning in a few months.”

“That should be exciting!”

“A jousting tournament?” Morgana sneered. “I don’t think Arthur becoming Crown Prince will make the sight of him knocking people off their horses with long poles any more interesting.”

Gwen laughed. “Sometimes the tournaments are fun to watch, though, aren’t they?”

As she ran the brush through Morgana’s hair, Morgana closed her eyes, leaning into her touch. In all honesty, the only thing that was fun about tournaments was sitting with Gwen the whole time, placing bets with each other on who would win.

She zoned out as Gwen finished up brushing her hair, enjoying the feeling of Gwen gently teasing out the tangles.

Gwen put the brush down and pulled Morgana’s long hair back over her shoulders. Morgana’s throat hitched and she opened her eyes.

“What are you planning on doing this afternoon?” Gwen asked.

“I might read,” ventured Morgana. “Don’t want to keep you from your seamstress duties.”

“I can do that when I get home this evening, milady,” Gwen offered quickly. “It isn’t part of my job.”

“Really, Gwen, it’s fine. I’ll be okay for a couple of hours if you want to work on the clothes for Lancelot.”

Gwen bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Gwen smiled and ducked her head in a tiny bow, since Morgana always discouraged her from full-on curtsying. “Thank you, Morgana.”

Morgana had to stop herself from breaking into a full grin when Gwen used her name.


	6. Sir Lancelot

With his clothes ready two days later and a sword from Gwen attached to his belt, Lancelot approached Prince Arthur to begin his training.

Arthur assigned him to muck out the stables.

Merlin flashed him a thumbs-up from the sidelines, excited his friend was one step closer to his dream. Gwen was a little less thrilled for him; though Arthur hadn’t said it, she knew the Prince had started Lancelot off with such a menial task because he was a commoner, and therefore had more to prove in the eyes of nobility. The truth rather sickened her, considering Lancelot carried more genuine nobility than any man she’d ever met or probably ever would meet. Certainly more than a spoiled prince like Arthur.

Lancelot took it gracefully, though. The genuine care and passion he threw into a thankless task must have impressed Arthur, who allowed Lancelot into basic training just a couple of days later.

Though the attacks from the mysterious creature hadn’t yet reached the city, killings happened in the outlying villages every few days. Lancelot’s final test was moved up, and suddenly the day arrived that would determine his fate.

As Merlin helped Lancelot dress in his armour that morning, he smiled at how he’d grown so used to Lancelot’s presence every day. Lancelot had been sleeping on the floor in Merlin’s room, and it was nice to wake up with someone there every day. Especially someone like Lancelot.

Merlin had to clean Arthur’s room that morning and repair one of his boots, so he couldn’t attend Lancelot’s fight, but the itch in his stomach to find out the results made him finish his chores incredibly quickly. Once he was done, Merlin sprinted down to the training grounds.

Lancelot was walking away from the grassy area, pulling off his helmet. Long strands of hair clung to the sweat on his brow.

“Are you done?” Merlin asked breathlessly.

Lancelot nodded.

“And?”

The corner of Lancelot’s mouth quirked up in a tiny grin.

Merlin whooped and ran towards him. “You’re a knight!”

Merlin pulled Lancelot into a hug, beaming. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Merlin,” Lancelot murmured into his ear.

“Merlin! Glad you’re here,” Arthur proclaimed, pulling off his helmet and approaching as Merlin and Lancelot pulled away from each other. “I need my armour cleaned.”

He shoved his helmet into Merlin’s arms. “Also, I’d like you to prepare a hot bath.”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin grumbled, holding out his arms as Arthur removed his breastplate.

“I’ll see you at the celebratory feast tonight,” Arthur said, clapping Lancelot on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to wear your uniform.”

“Looking forward to it, Sire.”

“C’mon, Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin plodded after Arthur.

“Did you clean the floor?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that true?” Arthur said. “Or am I going to get there and find it’s as dirty as it was when I got up this morning?”

“Well, by the time you walk in there with your dirty boots it will be as dirty as it was this morning,” Merlin pointed out.

“I suppose that’s true. You’ll just have to wash it again, then. Oh, Lancelot?” Arthur stopped walking and turned back. Lancelot looked over at him.

“Congratulations,” Arthur said. “You’ll make an excellent knight.”

Lancelot grinned. “Thank you, Sire.”

\---

Merlin was attending to Arthur all afternoon. When Morgana walked into Gaius’s chambers, the physician was the only one there, hunched over a mound of open books on his table.

“Gaius?”

He looked up. “Hello, my child. What can I do for you?” Gaius said, standing up to greet Morgana.

“I thought I’d pick up my sleeping potion. I know everything is going to be busy with the feast tonight.”

“Yes, of course. You’re still not sleeping well?”

Morgana shook her head.

“No improvement at all?”

Morgana swallowed and thought about it. “I’ve had fewer nightmares recently. I’m still sleeping poorly, though.”

As Gaius walked over to a shelf to find the correct potion for Morgana, she looked down at the books on his table. “Any luck?”

“I’m getting close,” Gaius said. “I can only hope that we find the creature responsible before another village is attacked.”

“Or Camelot.”

“Or Camelot,” Gaius agreed, handing her a phial.

The door at the back of the room opened, and a man with chin-length brown hair wearing a clean, blue shirt emerged.

Morgana and Lancelot made eye contact before Lancelot lowered his head respectfully. “My Lady.”

“I’m guessing you're Lancelot,” Morgana said, smiling, though not very widely.

“I am.”

“I’ve heard much about you from Gwen,” Morgana said, watching his reaction closely as she said her maid’s name.

Lancelot smiled. “She was very kind to help me.”

“Well, Gwen’s a very kind person,” Morgana replied.

Though Lancelot was polite, the way he talked about Gwen seemed more appreciative than loving. Morgana could be reading him wrong -- but she didn’t think she was.

“Congratulations on your knighthood, Sir Lancelot,” Morgana added. “I suppose I’ll see you at the feast tonight.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“Thank you for the potion, Gaius,” she said to the physician.

Morgana slipped out of the physician’s chambers and walked through the hallways of the castle, smiling.

\---

The celebration that night was colourful and joyous. Even with the ongoing attacks from the mysterious winged creature, Camelot always welcomed a party.

Lancelot laughed and drank with the other knights. Gwen and Merlin circled the room filling drinks, though they quickly got distracted when they found each other, and ended up chatting and laughing. Merlin teased her about which of the knights she thought was the hottest, and they stood together for a quarter of an hour.

Eventually Gwen was pulled away to hang out with Morgana. Though the Lady Morgana always had an air of comfort and confidence, she didn’t seem to have much in the way of people to talk to. More than once Merlin had noticed her standing alone at parties, lost without Gwen or Arthur by her side to make easy conversation with.

With Gwen gone, Merlin continued serving drinks, deliberately making eye contact with Lancelot from across the room every few minutes. Lancelot was quiet around the knights, though he seemed at ease. Whenever Merlin looked over at him, though, he always sensed it, and offered him a smile each time.

\---

After the feast, everyone wandered, dazed, back to their rooms. Merlin helped a slightly drunk Arthur to bed.

When he returned to Gaius’s chambers, the physician was absent, but Lancelot was there. He would soon get his own chambers in the castle, but for now he was still sleeping on Merlin’s floor.

Lancelot looked up and smiled. “Merlin.”

No candles had been lit yet for the night, but the moonlight slanting through the window was enough to see Lancelot’s face. Merlin smiled and walked closer. “Enjoy the feast?”

“It was wonderful,” Lancelot said, tugging at the collar of his chainmail. “But why were we expected to wear armour to the feast?”

“Arthur’s in armour every moment of every day,” Merlin said. “He probably sleeps in it.”

Lancelot smirked. “At least we weren’t expected to wear our helmets.”

Merlin laughed. “Chainmail isn’t the worst of it. This is light compared to what you’ll be wearing most days. Here, let me help you.”

Merlin reached out to Lancelot, who was struggling to remove the metal cuffs on his wrists. He pulled them off and helped with the rest, until Lancelot was free of his armour and standing in normal clothing once more.

“Thank you,” Lancelot said.

“No problem. I had a hard time figuring out all this armour stuff until Gwen helped me.”

“I meant for everything,” said Lancelot softly. “I would never have made it here if not for you.”

Merlin swallowed. “Of course.”

Lancelot stepped towards him, and Merlin could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his hands.

“I care about you very much, Merlin.”

“I care about you too,” Merlin whispered.

Lancelot looked like he might say something else. Merlin didn’t give him the chance. He leant forward until his lips touched Lancelot’s. It was warm and gentle in a way his kisses with Will had never been, as much as he loved his childhood friend. Merlin felt Lancelot smiling against him, and he couldn’t help but smile as well as he pulled away.

Merlin stood staring at Lancelot in the silvery light of the physician’s chambers, feeling as though he was the one who had just been knighted.

\---

When Merlin was six years old, his mother had let him ride a horse for the first time. He lived in a farming village with plenty of horses, and had complained for years that he never got to ride one. Looking back, he understood why— he’d been small, he was easily injured, and he was the only person his mother had. When he was very young he’d had nightmares about losing her, and she’d probably had the same about losing him.

The first couple of times on a horse, Merlin was ordered to ride slowly. Once he got the hang of it, he was allowed to pick up the pace a little. But Merlin was tired of working in tiny increments. He pulled the horse into a full gallop and glided across the meadows.

As a child, Merlin had always been fast but clumsy. He didn’t have the technique required to run very well. On the horse, though, he felt powerful and utterly free. He felt like a raindrop streaking down from the sky in a windy storm.

He’d fallen off soon after. But it didn’t taint the memory.

Being with Lancelot made him feel the same. True, Lancelot wasn’t a horse, but when Merlin was with him he felt that same rush of excitement and freedom. Though he was content in Camelot, he’d rarely felt pure, fizzling joy in his life since riding that horse at age six. With Lancelot, he felt it every day.

Lancelot was plenty busy with his new knight duties, and with the strange creature still attacking outlying villages, everyone was on edge. Still, Merlin’s chest burst a little every time he saw Lancelot. Between his duties, Lancelot always seemed able to find Merlin wherever he was in the castle. He would sneak up behind him and kiss him lightly on the head.

They didn’t really discuss what was going on between them, but whatever it was, it was working. Their desires wove together in perfect harmony. Sometimes, Merlin would look over at Lancelot, and he would get a little breathless at how overwhelmingly in love with him he was.

\---

The creature attacked another village. This time, though, it didn’t just pick out a few stragglers -- it swooped all around the town, killing dozens of villagers without eating them. Their broken bodies littered the ground. The creature even ripped through a few houses.

After rushing over rough terrain for two hours, clinging to the few loved ones they had left, the survivors arrived in Camelot. While a few elders were sent to report to the King, the rest of the people were led into the castle by the knights. Lancelot gently guided a group of children up the castle’s steps.

On the other side of the courtyard, standing with a bruised arm and a cut lip, a villager fixed his gaze on Lancelot. He watched the knight, eyes dark, as he made his way into the castle.

\---

“It’s attacked again,” Gaius said the moment Merlin walked into their chambers.

“Any idea what it is?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Merlin ran over to him. “What is it?”

Gaius pointed at a picture in one of his books. “A griffin.”

Merlin examined the picture. “But this creature has the body of a lion. The one I saw looked more like a grey cat.”

“A different variety, perhaps. But still the same creature. Look.” Gaius pointed at the text. “‘The griffin’s coat is impenetrable to even the sharpest of blades.’”

“That’s why Lancelot’s sword shattered,” Merlin realised.

“Exactly. And speaking of Lancelot…” Gaius pulled off his glasses and fixed Merlin with a stern look. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

Gaius stared harder. His eyebrow looked like it wanted to launch itself off his face.

“Alright, fine, yes,” Merlin said, raising his hands in the air. “But you can’t stop me from seeing Lancelot.”

“Be careful, Merlin,” Gaius warned. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Hiding who I am is already hurting me,” said Merlin. “I’m not going to let it control my whole life.”

“I see.”

“Lancelot… he makes me feel accepted in a way I’ve never felt before. I-I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to, Merlin. I only ask that you take care.”

Merlin nodded. “I will. Uh, so how do you plan on stopping this griffin?”

“It’s a creature of magic,” Gaius explained. “That’s what gives it its invulnerability. Perhaps only magic can stop it.”

“Do you know of anyone who possesses magic that powerful?”

“None that I know of apart from the druids. And they wouldn’t dare show their faces in Camelot.”

“So what are we going to do? If that thing reaches Camelot, the knights won’t be able to beat it.”

“I know,” Gaius said, sagging into his chair. “We’ll need to come up with a solution soon.”

Merlin turned his head suddenly at shouting in the hallway. He strode towards the door and went out to check.

He followed the noise to a nearby hallway and saw two guards pulling someone between them. The man was thrashing, trying to pull away from their grip.

The man was Lancelot.

“What are you doing?” Merlin called, rushing forward. Another guard pushed Merlin back.

“Lancelot!” he shouted.

Lancelot twisted to look over his shoulder. “It’s alright, Merlin.”

Merlin turned to the guard who was holding him back. “Where are they taking him?”

“To the King,” the guard replied.

“Why?”

“Because he’s broken the law.”

\---

Arthur stood by his father, who was seated on the throne. The doors cracked open, and two guards entered with Lancelot. They took him to the middle of the room and threw him to his knees.

Lancelot looked up at the King. Lancelot’s face was soft and open, carrying no trace of treachery.

“Come forward,” Uther commanded, beckoning for one of the people watching from the sidelines. A man with a cut in his lip approached the throne.

“Tell the court who this man is,” Uther said to the villager.

The villager straightened his back. “I’ve met Lancelot before,” he said. “Four years ago he came to our village. He stayed for a while, but then we found him… consorting with another man, and we drove him out. I haven’t heard anything of him since, until I recognised him this afternoon.”

From his place next to his father’s throne, Arthur turned to look at Lancelot. His head was lowered, but his brown eyes were turned up, looking at the villager and then at the King.

“Do you deny it?” Uther asked.

Lancelot swallowed. “No, Sire.”

Uther gripped the armrests of the throne. “You have broken one of Camelot’s foremost laws. You have brought disgrace on the knights and on yourself. For this I can offer only one sentence.” Uther turned to look at Arthur. “See that he’s executed at dawn.”

Arthur stiffened, but offered his father a small nod.

The guards took Lancelot away, and people slowly began to trickle out of the throne room.

Uther stood. Arthur remained unmoving in the shadows. “Is execution really necessary, Father?”

Uther jerked his head towards his son with a startled expression. “You heard what he did. We can offer no mercy for people like him.”

“But he came here seeking to serve you,” Arthur said, striding forward. “Surely he means Camelot no harm. Besides, he’s a fine knight.”

“People like him can never be knights, Arthur.”

“Why not? I mean, what harm has he done since arriving here?”

“You have no idea what he’s done since arriving here,” Uther said, scowling. “We cannot allow ourselves to be hoodwinked by these people. I know it may seem harsh, but it is necessary to the survival of the kingdom. Lives must be lost for others to be saved.” Uther turned to leave.

“How will his death save anyone?” Arthur called out after his father, who was walking away from him, towards the doors of the throne room.

Uther stopped and looked back. “When you become King, you will understand the meaning of making sacrifices.” Then Uther exited the room.

Arthur stood alone, his stomach twisted as he tried to picture himself as King.

As he tried to picture himself as the kind of king Uther was moulding him into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next is a flashback chap


	7. The Druid Camp

When Arthur was 12 years old, the process of growing up began. Most people become a teen, start growing and learning and maturing, and by the end of it all they’re thrown into the brutality of the world as a fully responsible human being.

Arthur wasn’t most people, though. His growing up wasn’t a transition from child to adult; it was a transition from Uther’s son to Uther’s soldier.

As Arthur approached the end of his 12th year, practising outside with a sword became training, not playing. He didn’t run around laughing with noblemen’s sons anymore, or explore the secret passages of the castle with Morgana.

By 13, he could use a mace, swing a sword, shoot a crossbow, throw a spear, and charge on horseback with a full-sized lance.

By 14, his hands were thick with callouses, and the bulk of his shoulders no longer fit into his childhood shirts.

At 15 years old, Arthur was one of the best sword fighters in Camelot. He started practising at dawn when the light was dull like embers of an hours-old fire, and stopped when it was too dark to see the stuffed dummy he was swinging at. Up till then, that had been the brunt of his duties: knocking heads off dummies, shooting arrows in the training ground; attacking faceless victims. He’d been out on patrol before, but usually on the sidelines. Once the knights had apprehended a criminal while Arthur was with them, but they’d escorted the man back to the castle. No blood. No real fighting.

When Arthur turned 16, Uther decided that it was time for it to become real.

\---

“We’ve heard reports of another druid camp in the woods nearby,” Uther said over lunch. “They’re sheltering criminals from the surrounding villages.”

“Let me guess,” Morgana said drily. “You’re sending the knights to go clear them out?”

“Yes,” said Uther, casting Morgana a stern look. He sipped from his goblet. Then, glancing over at his son, he said, “Arthur, I’m sending you to lead the raid.”

Morgana’s fork froze over her plate. She looked up at Arthur.

Arthur gaped at the King. “Father, are you sure?”

“Of course,” said Uther. “You’ve trained long enough. The other knights respect you. Take a dozen men; you can leave first thing tomorrow. We’ll discuss the details later today.”

Morgana could see Arthur’s pulse thrumming in his throat. “Yes, Father,” he said.

\---

Morgana arrived at Arthur’s chambers early the next day to see him off. He answered the door already dressed in chainmail, his back straight and head held high. When he saw it was Morgana, his shoulders loosened a little, and he moved back to let her in.

“Did you sleep?” Morgana asked him as she walked in.

“A little.”

“Arthur, it’s going to be fine.” She stepped towards him, fixing a loose strap on his shoulder. “Your father clearly has confidence in you.”

“If I mess this up, he never will again.”

“You won’t mess up,” she said.

Arthur looked at her. “Thank you.” He paused. “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask. How did you sleep? I know you haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“I slept fine,” Morgana said.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” he said.

Morgana smiled. “Maybe we can go riding later this week.”

He nodded.

They never really spoke of the melancholy that hung over Morgana, but Arthur, though quite thick at times, seemed to be able to sense when she was at her worst. Sometimes it crept into every corner of her body, filling her until it overflowed; she would stay in her room all day, or sit in silence at meals, staring at a full plate the whole time. Other days it was a faraway pain that she could ignore if she wanted to.

Arthur straightened up. “I should get ready to go.”

Morgana nodded and took a long breath. “Be careful.”

Arthur smirked. “Scared I’m going to get hurt?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have that kind of luck.” She walked to the door. As she opened it to leave, she said, “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

Morgana wanted to say _Don’t do this_ , or _Just scare the druids off, don’t kill them_. But she couldn’t tell Arthur that. He had as little control over this as she did.

“Just… remember that you’re the one leading the raid. Not Uther.”

Arthur nodded, the teasing smile gone from his face. Standing in the pale morning light, dressed in full armour, he looked like an adult. Like a knight, ready to lay down his life.

“I won’t,” he said.

\---

Gwen rushed into her house, a bucket of water in her hands and a bundle of wildflowers tucked into the pocket of her dress. Elyan and her father were both standing in the kitchen, scowling.

“What made you think you could be so careless, Elyan?” Tom barked.

Gwen set the water down on the table. “What’s going on?”

Elyan glanced at her quickly. At 13, he was now the same height as Gwen. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.

“Elyan,” Gwen said, stalking towards him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened!” Elyan said loudly, turning back to his father. “Nothing that’s anyone’s business, anyway.”

“Elyan was with that boy again,” Tom said, arms crossed.

“So what?”

“Elyan, if someone had seen you, don’t you know what could happen? The King’s men could arrest you. You could end up being executed in that square!”

“It was just a kiss.”

“It can’t happen again, Elyan,” their father said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Elyan huffed. He stormed past the table.

Gwen moved forwards to block his path. “Elyan, wait.”

“Get out of the way, Gwen.”

“Elyan, we can talk about it - ”

“I’m sick of talking about what I can and can’t be.” He shouldered past Gwen, pushed the door open, and ran off.

“Elyan!” Gwen shouted. When he didn’t come back, Gwen kicked at a table leg.

“You’re going to be late for work, Gwen,” her father said, his voice weary.

“I don’t care!”

“We’ll all have a talk tonight,” he said, walking around the table and placing a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. She wiggled out of his touch.

“Why did you shout at him like that?”

“Guinevere, I don’t want him to get hurt being careless!”

She scowled, biting at the inside of her cheek until it stung. Then she pulled the flowers from her pocket and pushed her way out the door, squeezing the stems all the way to the castle.

\---

As Morgana walked back to her room, she wrung her hands together. She wished the afternoon would never come; she’d either have to greet Arthur and look him in the eye knowing he’d destroyed the home of druids and fleeing refugees, or she’d have to wait until the patrol returned with Arthur gravely wounded. Or dead.

Her chambers were empty when she arrived. She crossed the room to look out the window. Men were already gathering horses together in the square, waiting for Arthur to arrive and lead them into the forest.

The door thumped, and Morgana turned to see Gwen rushing in.

“Milady,” Gwen said, “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, Gwen,” said Morgana. “I was just seeing Arthur off.”

“How was he?”

“Scared of letting Uther down,” Morgana admitted.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how any version of today could ever turn out fine.”

Gwen swallowed and looked down. “I suppose.” Then she glanced up, her face brightening. “I brought you something.”

Morgana frowned, letting go of the window ledge. “What?”

Gwen raised her hand, revealing the bundle of wildflowers in her grip. “I picked them for you.”

Morgana’s chest, which had felt heavy and cool like it was carrying the last ice of winter, tingled now as though the warmth of the spring sun was popping and splitting the ice apart.

“I know you haven’t been feeling well lately,” Gwen added, as Morgana walked towards her. “I thought they might help.”

In a wave of joy that almost overwhelmed her, bright in contrast to the inky darkness she’d been choking on for days, Morgana threw her arms around Gwen and pulled her into a hug. The flower stems bent slightly before Gwen brought her own arms up and curled them around Morgana.

When Morgana didn’t pull away, Gwen softly said, “Are you okay?”

Morgana didn’t want to lie, and she didn’t want to tell the truth, so she stayed silent, burying her face into Gwen’s shoulder. If she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough, then nothing else existed: not Arthur, not Uther, not the constant ache inside her.

Eventually, the wildflowers were placed in a vase near the window, where the sun soaked through them, lighting up the yellows and blues of the petals.

\---

“Sire,” Sir Leon whispered. “I think I saw something up ahead.”

“Stop the horses,” Arthur said. The rest of the knights halted.

Arthur leapt off his horse. Leon, who was a few years older than Arthur but still one of the youngest knights, moved towards the Prince. “Should we approach?” he asked.

Arthur was gripping tightly to his horse’s reins. He could feel his pulse in his clenched fingers. Eventually he nodded. “Everyone dismount. Someone stay with the horses.”

The knights leapt from their steeds, their boots crunching in the fallen leaves on the ground.

“Edric, you and Leon take four men and go that way,” Arthur said, pointing to the left. “The rest of you can come with me.”

The knights started to split apart. Suddenly Arthur, a little too loudly, said, “Wait!”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I… I don’t want any women and children harmed. Is that understood? We’re just here to clear out the camp.”

The knights exchanged glances. One said, “Yes, Sire.” His voice, though, was faint and solitary.

Arthur and his men moved quietly through the leaf-strewn forest. They reached the crest of a hill, looking down into a small valley. The area was populated by tents. Firepits puffed smoke into the air, and people milled about. They wore robes of bright colours.

Arthur gripped his sword tightly as he watched the people in the hollow. They looked normal, like the people in Camelot’s lower town. He saw a trio huddled around a pot, preparing food. A couple of boys, no older than five, were running gleefully through the trees and tents, leaping in the air as they tried to reach colourful flags strung from one tree branch to another.

Arthur’s heartbeat vibrated through his entire body. His mouth tasted like coins.

Before he could give any orders, someone in the camp spotted one of the knights. She shouted, and as people started looking up, Arthur’s knights rushed into the valley. He had no choice but to run down the hillside after them.

Arthur landed roughly on the ground. A man sprinted towards him, swinging a sword, and Arthur met him with his own blade. After a short clash, Arthur disarmed the druid. Then he stood there, uncertain what to do. He’d never killed anyone before.

In his moment of hesitation, the druid man reached wildly for a pot lying by an abandoned fire. He swung it Arthur, who leapt out of the way. The man took off through the trees, scooping up a small child as he went. Before Arthur could follow, somebody else attacked, and he was once again engaged in combat.

The second fighter was harder to beat. He swung his weapon at Arthur’s head, and as Arthur ducked he thrust his own sword forward. The blade sank into the man’s gut.

Arthur pulled it out and stumbled back in shock. As the sword exited the wound, the man crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He hit the forest floor face forward, his wrist bending back as his sword fell from his limp hand.

Arthur couldn’t look away from the body. It just lay there, motionless like a practice dummy. Except the practice dummies didn’t bleed.

A child’s scream ripped through the air. Arthur looked up across the pavilion.

The knights were cutting wildly through the druids. As a woman rushed at one of them, knife bared while a child stood shaking behind her, the knight swiped his sword across her chest. She fell, landing next to two other druid bodies.

“Stop!” Arthur shouted. He ran across the camp, weaving through overturned pots and ripped tents. Before he could reach the other knights, he tripped and fell to the ground.

He pushed himself back to his feet and turned to see what he’d fallen on. Lying on the ground, tangled up in his own robes, was the body of a young boy. His brown hair was swept across his forehead, and glassy blue eyes reflected the blood-soaked grass.

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Eventually the battle ended; some druids had escaped, but the camp was still littered with bodies. Arthur flinched when a hand touched his shoulder. He spun around with his sword, and Sir Leon leapt out of the way to avoid it. “Sire, all the druids are gone,” Leon said.

Arthur lowered his weapon. “We should go,” he said faintly.

Leon nodded. “The Prince says we’re ready to clear out,” he said loudly.

They all headed up the cliffs, back towards the horses. Arthur had often wondered who cleaned up after a battle. Now he knew: nobody did.

He looked back at the camp, tent flaps fluttering in the wind, before continuing on to the horses. Leon placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did well, Arthur. The King will be proud.”

\---

As Morgana walked back to her chambers after lunch, she saw the return of Arthur’s raid party through the window. She stepped forwards, pressing her hand against the glass.

“What is it? Morgana?” Gwen asked.

“Arthur’s back.”

Gwen moved next to Morgana so that she could see as well. They watched the knights dismount from their horses. Arthur was alive and appeared unharmed.

“Gwen, why don’t you head home,” Morgana suggested, pulling away from the window. “I’ll be able to take care of myself for the afternoon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Gwen looked relieved. She’d seemed a little distracted all day. “I’ll be back this evening,” she promised.

Morgana smiled. “See you then.”

As Gwen went down the stairs, Morgana went up. Instead of going to her room, she headed in the other direction.

When Arthur came back to his chambers, probably fresh from delivering his report to Uther, Morgana was sitting at his table. “How did it go?” she asked, rising from her chair.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked sharply. He tore off his gloves, tossing them on the bed, and started undoing his breastplate. After a few pieces clattered to the ground, he gave up trying to take off his armour himself and instead sat down in a chair at the table.

Morgana crept towards him. Her hand hovered over his shoulder before she pulled it back.

“I told them - ” Arthur took a deep breath. “I told them not to harm women and children. We were just there to break up the camp. But the knights didn’t listen to me.”

“I'm sure you did everything you could,” Morgana told him softly. He looked up at her desperately, searching for something in her eyes that could allow him to forgive himself.

“They killed children,” he said, his voice tight. “Their bodies were… It - And I had to kill somebody.”

Morgana pulled a chair close to Arthur’s, sat down in it, and tugged him into a hug. He curled his chin into her shoulder. She couldn’t hear him, but she felt his chest shudder as he started crying.

Though they weren’t truly siblings, a kinship had always existed between Morgana and Arthur; not just because they both lived under the shadow of Uther, but because they were both motherless. Neither ever spoke of it, but each had lived their entire life knowing they were responsible for their mother’s death — Morgana’s mother had died in childbirth, and Arthur’s mother had died when he was only a few months old, reportedly weakened by the pregnancy. Though they hadn’t known their mothers, the weight of this knowledge left them with a sting similar to the feeling of losing a loved one.

This identical guilt, which rubbed both their hearts raw like the constant pain of a sore throat, didn’t need to be spoken to connect Arthur and Morgana. They’d sensed it when they’d first met as small children. They’d allowed it to bond them when Morgana had moved to Camelot.

And now they allowed it to envelop them like a heavy blanket as Morgana curled herself around a sobbing Arthur. That stinging guilt allowed her to communicate the words she couldn’t say out loud, the words Arthur needed to hear most as he tore at his heart with an anger that he was too ashamed to let go of:

_Don’t worry. I’m a monster too._


	8. The Griffin

Merlin and Gwen were huddled together at the table in Gaius’s chamber. Gaius sat across from them, poring over a book.

“Arthur won’t be persuaded?” Gwen asked.

“Arthur might,” Merlin said. “It’s Uther that’s the problem.”

It was the night of Lancelot’s arrest, and Gwen and Merlin still hadn’t figured out a way to set him free. Gwen put her face in her hands. “What should we do, then?”

Suddenly the castle’s warning bell started clanging.

The harsh sound jolted Gwen from her thoughts. “What’s happened now?” Gwen cried.

Merlin stood. “I’ll go ask Arthur.” He dashed out of the room.

Gwen started pacing the room, weaving her fingers together and repeatedly untangling them in the hope that it would relieve some of the tightness in her chest. She glanced over at Gaius’s book. “Have you found anything yet, Gaius?”

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together. “The griffin’s coat is impenetrable; none of the knights’ blades will be able to pierce it. The only solution I can think of is magic. And no one that I know of in Camelot has magic strong enough to defeat it.”

Gwen walked over to look at the illustration in the book. “The creature’s fur stops blades?”

“Exactly.”

“So what if you were to try stabbing it in its eyes? Or the mouth?” Gwen asked, pointing at the gaping beak in the picture. “There’s no fur there.”

Gaius sat up. “You may have a point, Guinevere. Perhaps the creature’s invulnerability extends only to the outer fur.”

“We should tell Arthur.”

“Yes,” Gaius agreed. “Wait until Merlin gets back. He can tell him.”

Ten minutes later, Merlin returned.

“What happened?” Gaius asked.

Merlin sagged into a chair. “The griffin attacked the square. Arthur and the knights are riding out to fight it.”

Gwen exchanged an alarmed look with Gaius. “Merlin, we may have found a way to defeat it.”

“What?” He leapt up from his chair. “What is it? Arthur is planning to ride out right now.”

“If the knights aim for the eyes or the inside of the mouth,” Gwen explained, “the creature’s coat doesn’t extend there, so it might not be invulnerable in those spots.”

“You’re sure?”

“We aren’t sure of anything,” Gaius said. “But it’s our best chance.”

“I’ve got to tell Arthur,” Merlin said, rushing out again.

\---

He couldn’t find Arthur in his room, or in the council chambers. He couldn’t even find him with the other knights. That’s because Arthur was far below, in the castle’s dungeons.

“Report upstairs to help defend the castle,” Arthur told the prison guards. “King’s orders.” They exchanged glances before running off.

Arthur was left alone. He walked down the corridor past empty cells. The screams from above were muffled, so all he could really hear was the sound of his own boots, and the scraping as bits of his armour brushed up against each other.

Arthur reached the last cell.

“Sire?” said the figure huddled in the corner. “I heard the warning bell. What’s going on?”

“The creature has attacked Camelot,” the Prince said.

Lancelot stood and ran over to the bars of the cell. “Is everyone okay?”

“They won’t be okay unless I can defeat it,” Arthur said. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, but it ended up being fast and shallow, and did nothing to help.

“So why have you come here?” Lancelot asked. Arthur noticed that he was wearing a plain grey shirt -- they had taken away his knight uniform.

“Even with the attack on the castle,” Arthur said, “they will not have rescheduled your execution. Everyone is distracted now.” He reached for the keys on his belt and unlocked the cell. Lancelot blinked as Arthur swung open the door. “You don’t deserve to die, Lancelot,” Arthur said, his throat thick.

Lancelot stepped forwards. “It would be an honour to ride out with you, Sire.”

“You aren’t riding out with us,” Arthur said. “I’m giving you a horse and you’re leaving Camelot.”

Lancelot frowned. “Arthur - ”

“If you stay here, the King will kill you. Go while you can.”

Lancelot hesitated before bowing his head. “Thank you, Prince Arthur.” He ran off down the corridor. Arthur followed behind, adjusting his sword in his belt.

\---

Gwen ran down a hall. As she turned a corridor, she collided with someone. “Lancelot?” she said with a gasp.

“Gwen.” He bowed his head. “I need your help.”

“How did you - ”

“I can’t explain right now. Prince Arthur has left to fight the creature.”

“I know. Merlin is looking for him.”

“I must aid him in whatever way I can,” Lancelot said. “May I borrow armour from you? And a spear?”

“Lancelot, it’s too dangerous,” Gwen said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Lancelot smiled. “I still need to try. I owe it to Arthur.”

Gwen bit her lip. “I understand. Come with me; I’ll get you armour.”

\---

After Lancelot was dressed for battle in Gwen’s kitchen, she handed him a shining spear. “You must aim for the griffin’s mouth or eyes,” Gwen said. “It might be weaker in those places.”

“I’ll try.”

Gwen’s chest clenched. “Be careful, Lancelot.”

“Thank you for your help, Gwen. Tell Merlin I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye to him.”

Gwen took a shaky breath. “I will.”

\---

Merlin burst into Gaius’s chambers. “I can’t find Arthur anywhere,” he said, gasping for breath. “He may have already ridden out. I need to follow him.”

“Merlin, you’ll get yourself killed,” Gaius said.

“But I must help Arthur! He doesn’t know how to defeat the griffin.”

Gwen pushed into the room. The door hit Merlin’s back, and he jumped forwards. “Gwen?”

“Merlin, Lancelot’s gone out to fight with Arthur.”

“What? It isn’t safe!”

“I told him to aim for the mouth.”

Merlin looked back desperately at Gaius. “I need to help him.”

Gaius sighed, closing his eyes. “You’ll be putting yourself at risk.”

“Please, Gaius.”

Gaius’s mouth tightened. “Be careful.”

Merlin nodded, and then he was gone.

\---

Merlin’s horse crested a hill, and they arrived in a small clearing bordered by trees. In the dark, Merlin could vaguely make out dark shapes on the ground. “Lancelot!” he shouted. He jumped from his horse and ran towards the bodies.

In the moonlight, he caught the shimmer of blond hair. A shiver went up his arms, settling in his stomach. “Arthur,” Merlin gasped, crawling across the ground to reach the Prince.

Arthur was lying on his back, his hair sticky with blood. He was still breathing. Merlin dragged him into the trees, then looked around wildly for Lancelot.

A screech cut through the cool night air. Silhouetted against the moon, the griffin was swooping down towards the unconscious bodies of the knights. Then Merlin heard a rumble of hooves. Across the clearing, a lone horse reared up on its back legs. The man riding it was in full armour, a spear stretched out in front of him.

“Lancelot!” Merlin shouted. The horse landed back on all fours. As the griffin swooped down and landed in the clearing, the horse started to charge towards it. Lancelot stretched out his arm. The griffin beat its wings and swiped a clawed arm at the approaching horse and rider. As the beast hissed, Lancelot plunged the spear forward, right into its open, beaky mouth. The spear fell from Lancelot grip as he thundered by. The griffin screamed, shaking its head as blood dripped from its mouth.

Merlin ran out from the cover of the trees. He slid against the ground as the griffin shook and spat.

“Merlin!” Lancelot dismounted from his horse. “Be careful!”

Merlin turned, tossing Lancelot the fallen spear. His friend grabbed it and thrust it forwards; the tip of the weapon pierced the creature’s yellow eye. Lancelot put a hand on Merlin’s chest and pushed him backwards as the creature collapsed and began writhing on the ground. Blood ran down its feathered face and matted the fur of its paws.

Then it stilled.

Merlin turned to Lancelot. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but he could see enough to know that Lancelot was smiling at him. “You killed it,” Merlin said breathlessly.

“And you came to help me,” Lancelot said. “Thank you.”

Merlin grabbed the back of Lancelot’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. The warmth was a shock in the cold night air.

Finally Merlin pulled back. “How did you get out of the dungeon?”

“Arthur let me out.”

“What?”

“I must speak to him. Will you check for survivors? I know you’ll be able to help them.”

Merlin frowned. “Of course. But shouldn’t you leave? What if you get arrested again?”

Lancelot put a hand on Merlin's cheek. “Don’t worry about me, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled and shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

\---

A gentle hand touched Arthur’s shoulder. “Sire,” a voice said quietly.

Arthur blinked and opened his eyes. “Lancelot?” He sat up. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you may need help defeating the griffin.”

Arthur looked around. “Where is it?”

Lancelot helped Arthur stand up. “Don’t worry. It’s been killed.”

“What? Did you kill it?”

Lancelot nodded. Arthur’s face split into a grin. “I can’t believe it. You did it, Lancelot!”

Lancelot straightened his shoulders. “I stayed to thank you again, Arthur, and to say goodbye.”

“Wait, what?”

“I cannot fight your father’s laws,” Lancelot said. “All I can do is hope they may one day change.”

“But Lancelot, you saved us all. I’m sure…”

Lancelot smiled sadly. “It was foolish of me to try serving a man like King Uther. And maybe it was foolish to even want to serve him. But if you ever require my services against, Sire, I would be more than happy to serve you.”

He bowed to the Prince, then walked away.

\---

Merlin was helping the knights to their feet. He turned as Lancelot laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think Gwen would mind if I stayed at her house for a night?”

Merlin frowned and tilted his head. “Why? What did you say to Arthur?”

“I told him that I’m leaving Camelot.”

\---

Arthur walked into the council chambers. Uther looked up at the sound of the door. “Well?”

“The beast has been defeated, Father,” Arthur said.

Uther beamed. His son walked over to him, and he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I knew you would not fail.”

“It was not I who defeated it.”

“One of your knights, then. Who?”

Arthur gave him a hard stare. “Lancelot.”

Uther’s eyes popped, and he said darkly, “How did he escape the cells?”

“I let him out,” Arthur said.

“What? He’s a criminal,” Uther barked.

“A criminal brave enough to be a knight,” Arthur said.

“Where is he now?”

“Gone. But his actions saved countless lives.”

“That does not erase who he is. People like him have no place in Camelot, and they must learn that.” Uther took a step towards Arthur. “Just because he killed the monster does not erase what he’s done, nor does it take away from what you’ve done. If you betray me like this again, there will be consequences.”

Arthur held eye contact with the King. He didn’t say anything.

Uther swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment if you're feeling it (: And get pumped for what's coming up!


	9. Goodbye Lancelot. Hello Mild Depression.

The sky was still creamy pink, the cobblestones washed with pale light, when Merlin entered the lower town in the morning. He raced towards Gwen’s house and knocked on the door.

Gwen opened it, and she gave Merlin a warm, melancholy smile. “Merlin. Lancelot’s at the stable getting his horse ready.”

Merlin nodded and blinked, looking down. “Right. Of course. Uh, thank you, Gwen, for letting him stay last night. I knew it wouldn’t be safe for him in the castle.”

“It was the least I could do,” Gwen said. She played with her hands nervously. “Do you know where he’s going to go?”

“No,” said Merlin. “I’m not sure if he does, either.”

Merlin and Gwen walked to the stables together. Lancelot was attaching a small bag of possessions to the horse Prince Arthur had lent him. He looked up at the sound of Gwen’s and Merlin’s footsteps. “I have everything prepared,” he said. “Thank you for your kindness, Gwen.”

“And thank you for saving us all, Sir Lancelot.” He smiled.

Gwen glanced between Merlin and Lancelot and, smart and kind as ever, said, “I should be getting back to the castle.” She left Merlin alone to say goodbye to Lancelot. For that simple gesture, Merlin loved her more than ever.

“Uh, I could walk with you to the edge of town,” Merlin offered.

“I would love that, Merlin,” Lancelot said.

Lancelot gently guided the horse out of the stables, and he and Merlin walked through the town, which was already bubbling with life, golden sun hitting the thatched rooftops. They climbed a small hill until they were standing on a dusty road bordered by trees. Now that they were just outside the town, the voices of people were muted so that all they could hear clearly was birdsong.

Merlin glanced around, swiftly and a little carelessly, before flinging his arms around Lancelot. He felt the warmth of Lancelot’s skin as Lancelot tucked his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck. “Goodbye, Lancelot,” Merlin whispered.

“Goodbye, Merlin.” Merlin pulled away and kissed Lancelot softly. When Lancelot got on his horse, he held out a hand, and Merlin kissed that as well. Merlin could feel his eyes clouding. He scrubbed at them furiously, trying not to cry. “I-I could come with you,” Merlin offered.

“You have people here who care about you, Merlin,” said Lancelot. “That’s too precious to throw away.”

“Don’t you want me with you?”

“Of course I do. But what I want even more is for you to be happy. I don’t believe you would be as happy with me as you would be if you stayed here.”

Merlin swallowed thickly and rubbed his eyes again. He stepped away from the horse. Lancelot took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Merlin. They stared at each other, silently screaming for the other to fix the pain that coursed through them.

Lancelot turned away. He pulled the reins of the horse, and it ambled off. Stripped of his title, Lancelot no longer wore armour. He had on the same plain clothes he’d arrived in. He could have been anyone. In the shade of the trees, Merlin stood and watched Lancelot disappear down the road.

\---

From Lady Morgana’s chamber, somebody else was watching Lancelot depart.

Morgana, who had been adjusting the flowers in the vase by her bed, turned to look at Gwen. Usually her maidservant bustled around in the morning, chatting animatedly. Now, though, she was standing quietly, her hands clenched in front of her lips as her eyes tracked something out the window.

Morgana pushed back the lace curtains hanging around her bed as she moved forwards. “Gwen?” Nothing. “Guinevere?”

Gwen broke her eyes away from the window. “Sorry. I was just…”

“Lancelot?” Morgana guessed.

Gwen nodded. “He’s just leaving.”

Once more, Morgana felt that unfamiliar twinge of pain as Gwen talked about Lancelot. She didn’t recognize the emotion, so in the typical fashion of the Pendragon household, she pushed it down and ignored it.

\---

Merlin wasn’t quite as good at keeping his feelings tucked away. Lancelot’s departure had leeched all the sharp colours and sensations from the world. Merlin moved dully from task to task, and everyone seemed to notice the absence of Merlin’s loud optimism: Gwen flashed him twice as many smiles as usual, Gaius tried to make one of Merlin’s favourite meals every day, Arthur teased him even more than usual.

Even the weather seemed to want to cheer Merlin up; as they reached the height of summer, the sun blistered the clouds away. Arthur got a tan line in the shape of his helmet’s visor. That’s what finally cured Merlin’s sadness.

When the air was thick and sweat clung to the back of everyone’s necks, Merlin finally got an afternoon off. He’d gotten good at balancing his workload between Arthur and Gaius, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want a break from it all. Still, despite it being his freetime, Merlin was always preoccupied with helping out. He decided to spend his afternoon in the forest looking for herbs for Gaius. Gwen also had the day off and had agreed to come with him, which probably led to less actual work being done, but Merlin didn’t mind. Though Lancelot’s absence left Merlin with a constant ache in his heart, some things had gotten better in the past few months. His friendship with Arthur had grown more comfortable, as had his friendship with Gwen -- the two no longer joked as awkwardly with one another, and Merlin came to her for help with problems all the time. Admittedly, he was a person with many problems.

“It’s nice to finally have some time outside,” Gwen said as they trailed through the forest. “It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “Nice to get away from Arthur. He’s been such a prat lately.”

“Merlin!” Gwen scolded, a laugh in her voice.

“What? It’s true! Probably irritable having to wear his armour in this heat. I don’t understand why he wears it all the time.”

“Well, he is a knight.”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to sleep in chainmail.”

Gwen batted Merlin’s arm. “Arthur doesn’t sleep in his chainmail.”

Merlin grinned. “Or does he?” Gwen rolled her eyes.

Merlin crouched down to pick a cluster of sticklewort. He stuffed the yellow flowers in his bag before standing and running his hands through his sweaty hair. “Back in Ealdor,” he said, “when it got this hot, my friend Will and I would hang out in the tunnels under the hills. It’s always colder underground.”

“I’d love a place like that here,” Gwen said, trailing her fingers along the bark of a tree as they continued through the woods. “It’s even worse in the castle.” She paused, then said, “You talk about your friend Will a lot. Do you miss him?”

“Uh, yeah, I miss him,” Merlin said, looking down at his boots and blinking rapidly. “We… sort of got into an argument just before I left, so I’m not so sure if he misses me.”

“An argument? About what?” asked Gwen.

“Just stuff, you know. He didn’t want me to come to Camelot.”

“Well, I’m happy that you came.”

Merlin looked over at her and smiled. “So am I.”

Gwen stopped under the shade of a tree. “I’m tired. Can we sit for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.” They sat and leaned against the tree. Merlin lay his palms flat against the ground so that he could soak up the refreshing cool of the grass and soil. In the shade of the forest, everything wasn't quite as dry and sharp.

“I’m sure when you go back to visit Ealdor your friend won’t be upset anymore,” Gwen said.

Merlin plucked a blade of grass from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. “I hope not.”

“Sometimes when you’re angry with someone it’s because you’re actually worried about them. The anger fades over time, and all that’s left is the worry.”

“I don’t want him to worry about me.”

Gwen smiled. “You can’t stop people who care about you from worrying, Merlin. I know I worry about my father, even though I see him every day. And I worry about my brother.”

Merlin frowned. “You have a brother?”

Gwen nodded. “Elyan. He left three years ago. I worry about him all the time.”

“Why did he leave?”

“Because he was being stupid,” Gwen muttered, tearing at the grass.

\---

They wandered through the forest for a while longer before heading back. As they crested a hill and the castle came into sight, Merlin challenged Gwen to a race, and suddenly they were tripping and tumbling down the slope, the sharp blades of dried grass stabbing into their clothes.

Gwen plucked bits of leaves from Merlin’s hair as they climbed the front stairs and moved through the hallways. As the two approached Gaius’s chambers, shouting sounded from a distant corridor.

“That’s because you were walking around my chambers with your boots covered in mud!”

“It’s not my fault Merlin hasn’t cleaned them!”

“Clean your own boots, Arthur Pendragon.”

“I don’t understand what they’re arguing about,” Merlin said, opening the door to let Gwen in. “I mean, they’re always arguing about something, but they’ve been going like this for a week. I’m too scared to ask Arthur about it; he’s angry enough as it is.”

“I have an idea of what happened,” Gwen said, as Merlin slung off his bag and placed it on Gaius’s desk. “Morgana tried to tell me, though mostly it was just her insulting Arthur. And I overheard Arthur complaining to a couple of the knights.”

“Okay,” said Merlin, sitting down and patting the chair next to him. “Spill.”

“So a week ago,” Gwen said, sitting down, “Morgana brought up the time Arthur challenged someone to a fight to the death when he was 12.”

Merlin laughed. “When he was 12? Blimey, when he said he’d been trained to kill since birth, I thought he was exaggerating.”

“It was a visiting noble,” Gwen continued. “Morgana didn’t like him, so she tricked Arthur into challenging him. The King obviously stopped the fight from ever happening, but Morgana has been telling Arthur that she thinks he never could have won the fight.”

“I mean, she’s right,” said Merlin.

“Then they started arguing about who was the better fighter when they were younger, since they used to practise together before Morgana was encouraged to stop when she got a bit older. Arthur said that Pendragons have always been the best fighters because of upbringing and blood. Then Morgana said that blood doesn’t guarantee fighting ability, and that if she’d been allowed to continue training with Arthur she’d be even better at sword fighting than he is now. That led to Arthur telling Morgana she could never be as good as he is, and now the only time they’re talking is when they’re shouting at each other.”

“Have to say, I agree with Morgana on this one,” Merlin said.

“Well, don’t tell either of them that; it will only encourage them to fight harder. They’re already driving me crazy,” Gwen said, rising from her chair. “I have to get back to work.”

“Thank you for spending the afternoon with me,” said Merlin.

“I had a lovely time,” said Gwen, beaming. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Good luck out there,” Merlin added, wincing as more shouting echoed through the hallways.

“Good luck with Arthur,” Gwen said with a teasing smile.

Merlin buried his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

\---

Merlin wandered hesitantly into Arthur’s chambers. Arthur was sitting at the table, hunched over a scroll. He glanced up and grumbled, “Where have you been?”

“In the forest?” Merlin said. “You gave me the afternoon off.”

“Did I?” Arthur said. “Well, there’s plenty for you to do now. Firstly, you can clean my boots.”

“I cleaned them four days ago!”

“Yes, Merlin, but in case you’ve forgotten, tomorrow night is the ceremony where I become Crown Prince. I can hardly pledge my allegiance to Camelot in front of dozens of people with muddy boots.”

“Course not,” Merlin muttered, wandering over to pick up Arthur’s boots from beside the bed. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Yes, I’ll need you to prepare a bath. After that you can help me practise my speech for tomorrow, and then you can polish my armour and launder my clothes.”

Merlin sighed and made for the door carrying Arthur’s boots. “Yes, Sire.”

Before he could open the door, someone knocked on it. Merlin pulled it open. Standing in the doorway was Morgana.

“My Lady,” Merlin said, bowing his head a little.

“Merlin, would you tell the beloved Prince of Camelot that I want my inkwell back?” Morgana said, her green eyes narrowed.

Merlin turned to Arthur. “Uh, it’s Lady Morgana. She says she wants her inkwell back.”

Arthur stood up and wrenched the door open the rest of the way. “That inkwell is mine! You gave it to me!”

“I lent it to you,” Morgana corrected. “And now I want it back.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Arthur growled as he walked over to his desk and retrieved the inkwell sitting there.

“You incite violence in my blood,” said Morgana simply.

“What do you even need an inkwell for?” Arthur demanded, shoving it roughly into her hand. Merlin stood awkwardly with his back against the wall, unable to escape. “What could you possibly need to write?”

“I’m helping Uther with a few final invitations for the nobles coming to the tournament,” she said, raising an eyebrow mockingly. “I suppose he prefers my penmanship to yours.”

Arthur snorted. “I have more important things to do than copy out invitations. After all, I am preparing to become the Crown Prince tomorrow.”

“And what do your ‘preparations’ involve? Learning how to comb your hair?”

“I know how to- You know what? I’m very busy. I’d appreciate it if you left.”

Morgana smirked, turned, and walked off down the hallway.

“The tournament better start soon so I can show her what real swordsmanship looks like,” Arthur muttered.

“I’ll get this cleaned straight away,” Merlin said, heading out the door with the boots.

“Bring hot water for the bath when you return. And Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“This afternoon we’re rehearsing my lines for the ceremony. If I mess up tomorrow in front of every guest in attendance, _especially_ Morgana, I will know exactly who to blame. Is that understood?” Merlin nodded vigorously and put on a tight smile.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're enjoying so far. i have a lot of plot planned, and it's gonna start getting extra tasty soon. comment to let me know what you think about the story, or to tell me your favourite flavour of jello, or anything, really.


	10. Assassins are Scary (so is Morgana)

“The competitors for the tournament will start arriving tomorrow,” Uther said over lunch. “We’ll host another banquet to welcome them tomorrow night, and then the jousting will begin the next day. Have you prepared for tonight, Arthur?”

“Yes, Father,” Arthur replied. It was the day of his crowning ceremony, and in a few hours all of Camelot would be celebrating their complete twit of a prince.

Morgana pushed a piece of fruit across the plate with her fork. She knew Arthur worked hard to meet the standards set for him as Prince of Camelot. Still, he was given everything he could ever need to excel. Not to mention he was destined for glory since birth -- they might as well have shoved the crown into his pudgy baby hands. Meanwhile, Morgana had no royal title, no official position. She wasn’t allowed to fight, or give her input in council, or do anything that would give her even half the glory that Arthur had simply been handed. She wasn’t a Pendragon. She hadn’t been born with a function, and she’d probably die having fulfilled no purpose.

Not to mention she was much less of an idiot than Arthur, and would probably do a phenomenally better job ruling. And jousting. And swordfighting. And anything else you could possibly imagine, because when it came to things, Morgana was just better.

“You’ll have some worthy competition in the joust,” Uther commented. “Many fine nobles from across the kingdom will be in attendance.”

“Well, don’t worry. They won’t be any match for me,” Arthur said, looking pointedly at Morgana. She scowled at him in response.

A servant refilled her goblet, and as she drank she watched Arthur chewing his food. The loud smacking of his lips seemed to fill the entire room.

Morgana set her goblet down and hissed through gritted teeth, “Will you stop doing that?”

“What?” Arthur said. “I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re chewing _so loudly_.”

“It’s not my fault, that’s how I chew!”

“What is the matter with both of you?” Uther demanded.

Morgana set down her fork. “If you’ll excuse me, My Lord, I should start getting ready for the Prince’s ceremony this evening,” she said to Uther, though her glare was still fixed on Arthur.

Morgana stormed off. When she arrived in her chambers, Gwen was sitting at the table, mending a dress. “You’re back early,” she said.

“Arthur was being a prick,” Morgana replied, throwing herself onto the bed.

“What do you want to wear for this evening?”

“I don’t care,” said Morgana. “Whatever annoys Arthur the most.”

\---

Arthur didn’t mess up his lines at the ceremony. Unfortunately.

“Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, customs and laws laid down by your forebears?” Uther said, his voice reverberating through the packed room.

“I do, Sire,” Arthur replied.

As Uther continued to talk, Morgana let her eyes drift across the crowd. She spotted Gwen standing with Arthur’s servant, Merlin. Morgana didn’t know much about Merlin, apart from the fact that he must have a miserable life, seeing as he had to work for Arthur. Strangely, though, as Merlin watched Arthur swear his loyalty to the kingdom, Morgana saw a look of pride wash over Merlin’s face. If she was forced to be Arthur’s manservant, she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. In fact, if Morgana had to work for Arthur, she would have found a way to poison him by now.

She looked back to the King as he said, “Now being of age and heir apparent, henceforth, you shall be Crown Prince of Camelot.” Arthur rose to stand by his father as applause filled the room. Morgana joined in, annoyed at the twinge of pride in her chest as she watched Arthur.

At least his crown was ugly.

\---

The crowning ceremony was over in a blur, and the next day dignitaries from across the land were arriving for the upcoming jousting tournament. Merlin felt like he hadn’t slept in years; every moment he was either helping with preparations for the tournament, or cleaning Arthur’s clothes, or dressing him, or rushing after Gaius, or banging his head against the stone walls in hopes of ending his pitiful existence.

At the end of the banquet announcing the next day’s tournament, Arthur headed back to his chambers, Merlin following close behind him. “I need you to sharpen my sword for me,” Arthur said, throwing open the door.

“What for? I thought you were using a lance in the tournament.”

“I still like to keep my sword sharp at all times, Merlin,” Arthur said, his hands fumbling with the fastening at his neck holding his cape up. Merlin walked over and helped him get it off.

“There are all sorts of people coming to the tournament,” Arthur continued. “You never know what to expect.”

Merlin picked the sword up from the table. He pulled it out of its sheath and examined it. “How much have you been practising? It’s so dull.”

“Bit like Arthur,” Morgana remarked, striding into the room.

Arthur looked at her sharply. “What is it?”

Morgana smirked, her dark hair rippling in the warm light of the room. “I just came to ask how many jousts you’ll be in tomorrow.”

Merlin slid the sword back in its sheath and slowly inched towards the door.

“Well, if I win each one, which I probably will,” Arthur said, sitting down at the table, “then I’ll be in three. Why?”

Morgana shrugged. “Just curious.” She headed for the door, passing Merlin on the way out. “Goodnight, Merlin,” she said, pointedly not wishing Arthur goodnight as well.

Merlin wished Morgana wasn’t so good at arguing. If she was a bit less talented at roasting Arthur, maybe he wouldn’t be so grumpy all the time, and then he wouldn’t aim so many of his possessions at Merlin’s head.

“Go sharpen the sword!”

Merlin ducked quickly and left.

\---

The armoury was crammed with armour and lances. There was nobody there. Merlin picked his way carefully past the expensive weaponry and began sharpening the sword blade.

Ten minutes later, Merlin heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall. From where he was in the corner he couldn’t see the door, but suddenly someone strode in, setting a piece of armour on a rack. In the dim light he clearly didn’t see Merlin. As he turned to leave, Merlin noted that he was a well-dressed man with brown skin and a neatly trimmed beard. He headed for the door and his footsteps stilled. Merlin stopped sharpening the sword.

The man was out of Merlin’s sight now, but Merlin could hear his voice as he spoke to someone. “Do you have the lance ready?” he asked.

The voice of another man replied, “Yes. When will I have my payment, Myror?”

“When the job is done,” Myror said. “Odin has promised to pay me handsomely for the Prince’s death. I assure you, you’ll get a cut once the task is complete.”

Merlin’s throat closed up, and he pressed himself farther into the corner of the room, engulfing himself in shadows.

“And what if you fail?”

“I am the most feared assassin in the land; I never fail. Any deaths in the tournament will be viewed as tragic accidents. You will be paid, and then I will be out of Camelot and back filling my pockets from Odin’s coffers before Uther even considers exacting revenge.” Merlin strained to hear them -- the loud pounding of his heartbeat was muffling all other noises.

“Well, the lance is ready for you whenever you want to come and get it.”

“Perfect.”

The voices faded as they moved down the hall. Merlin slumped against the wall, his sword gripped harshly in his hands like it could somehow save him from what was going to happen.

One of the competitors was going to murder Arthur.

\---

Merlin rushed back to Arthur’s chambers, knowing he was the only one capable of saving his life. By the time he was finished talking to him, he was half tempted to just let him die.

“Been hearing voices again, Merlin?”

“Arthur, I’m serious! One of the competitors is going to kill you.”

Arthur shook his head, sitting down on the bed. “Merlin, these are noblemen from across the kingdom; they are trusted friends of the crown. Why would anybody like that try and have me killed?”

“His name is Myror,” Merlin said.

At that, Arthur looked up. “I’ve heard that name before. Rumour has it he’s a renowned assassin.”

“Exactly!”

“He doesn’t even live in our kingdom, Merlin. And you don’t actually have proof of this, do you?”

“Arthur, please, just trust me,” Merlin said, stepping forward. “If you don’t pull out of the tournament, you’re going to get hurt.”

“Really? And what do you think will happen if I’m seen pulling out of the tournament being held in my honour, right after I’ve been crowned Prince of Camelot? How do you think the people will view me then?”

“Surely your life is more important than your reputation?”

“Merlin, I’m a prince. My reputation is my life. If the people don’t respect me, I will never be able to become a good ruler for them. Besides, if I pull out now, Morgana will laugh at me all the way to the grave.”

“Arthur - ”

“Enough, Merlin,” Arthur said sharply, undoing his boots. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you help me prepare for the first joust. Don’t be late.”

Merlin scowled. “Goodnight, Sire.”

\---

Back in Gaius’s chambers, Merlin paced back and forth. “Maybe I should just let Arthur die. He’s such a prat. He honestly deserves it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Gaius said. “But until we have more information, I suggest you rest, Merlin. The best way you can help Arthur tomorrow is by being alert and attentive. You’ve seen Myror, so Arthur will be relying on you to watch out for him.”

“Arthur doesn’t rely on me for anything. If I died, he wouldn’t notice.”

“Maybe you should think less about Arthur’s opinion of you,” Gaius said, swirling a flask of liquid over the open flame on his desk. “What he says doesn’t measure your worth, Merlin. I don’t want you thinking that it does.”

“I know, but… I know, Gaius. I can’t explain. I just wish he understood how much I do for him.” Merlin collapsed into a chair. “I do it because it’s my job, but I also do it for him. He’s… better than Uther could ever be.”

“I’d almost call that a compliment.”

“It’s not a _compliment_. I just respect him, is all.”

“Uh-huh.”

Merlin got up and walked to his room. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Good night, Merlin.”


	11. Gwen Says Bi Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i have any idea how jousting actually works? no. do i care? no.
> 
> get ready for gwen braincell hour

The morning of the tournament brought more blistering weather. Gwen ran her hand over the back of her neck to pull away the hairs that clung to her sweaty skin. As she and Morgana made their way across the grass and towards the spectator stands, Merlin appeared ahead of them, weaving through the growing crowd.

“Merlin,” Gwen said, “shouldn’t you be helping Arthur?”

“I have. He’s ready for the first match. I’m sorry, I’m looking for someone,” he said, bowing his head quickly to Morgana before pushing past them and running towards the cluster of colourful tents where the competitors prepared.

“Wonder why he’s in such a hurry,” Gwen mumbled.

“To get away from Arthur?” Morgana suggested.

Gwen laughed. “When are you going to forgive him?”

“Who says I have to? You brought the ribbons?”

As they climbed the stairs to the stands, Gwen pulled three silk ribbons, each a different colour, from the pocket of her dress. “Right here.”

Morgana smiled wickedly.

They reached the royal box. Morgana sat down in the smaller throne, and Gwen went to sit down on a bench just outside the box. She tugged at the hem of her dress, which was increasingly uncomfortable under the summer sun. When the King arrived the crowd rose. As he announced the beginning of the tournament, the competitors poured into the arena on horseback, all lining up in a long, neat row.

As they exited the arena, Gwen got up and hurried to the end of the bench. She went down the stairs and out the back.

The first match was between Prince Arthur and a Sir Robert. Gwen found Sir Robert in one of the tents, standing still while a servant adjusted his armour.

“Sir Robert,” Gwen said, bowing at the tent’s entrance. “I have brought this from the Lady Morgana. She wishes for you to wear it during your joust, to bring you luck.” She held out one of the expensive silk ribbons she’d been keeping in her pocket.

Sir Robert grinned. “Tell Lady Morgana it’s my honour.” He held out his arm, and Gwen tied the ribbon around his armoured bicep.

As she left the tent, eager to get back to her seat before the tournament began, she saw Merlin again. He was walking around the grass, squinting in the sun, his head turning back and forth.

“Merlin?” She frowned and hurried over to him. “Why aren’t you getting a seat? The joust will be starting soon.”

“I’m looking for someone,” he replied.

“Who?”

“I can’t explain now. Who’s supposed to fight Arthur first?”

“Sir Robert,” Gwen said. She turned back to the tent, where Sir Robert was just emerging, lance in hand. “He’s right there.”

Merlin’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I’ll find you after the first match, Gwen.”

She nodded. As she walked back to the stands, she turned and watched Merlin briefly. He was hovering behind Sir Robert as he mounted his horse. Strange. Still, Merlin was a strange boy. If Gwen worried about every weird thing he ever did, she’d be worrying constantly.

Gwen made it back to her seat. She glanced over at Morgana, who grinned and mouthed _Thank you_. Gwen couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Arthur and Sir Robert entered on their horses, and cheering rippled through the crowd. In the bright light, the blue ribbon Sir Robert wore was apparent.

Arthur won the match. He wouldn’t be fighting for another half hour, so after he was done Gwen followed Morgana back out of the stands. Morgana sauntered over to Arthur’s tent, where Arthur was sitting, panting in the heat, as Merlin set his helmet and lance down in the corner.

“Arthur!” Morgana said, smirking. “Tired already?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you for asking, Morgana,” he said, pushing back his hair.

“Good!” she said brightly. “I’m sure you’re excited to face your next competitor.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ecstatic.”

As they spoke, Gwen touched Merlin lightly on the arm and nodded for him to follow her. They left Morgana to her subtle roasting and wandered out of the tent.

“Why’s Morgana wishing Arthur good luck?” Merlin asked. “I thought she still hated him.”

“She wants to check that the ribbon annoyed him.”

“Ribbon?”

“They signify Morgana favours the competitor. She’s asked me to give them to everyone Arthur faces today.”

Merlin smirked. “Brilliant. But she knows Arthur will beat them, right?”

“She doesn’t care. She just knows it will bother him.” She laced her fingers together. “So what’s been bothering you?”

Merlin’s smile vanished. “I think an assassin is here to kill Arthur.”

“ _What?_ Have you told him?”

“He doesn’t believe me. Or doesn’t care -- this tournament is important to him, Gwen. He would never pull out, even with his life at risk.”

“How do you know there’s an assassin?” Gwen asked, lowering her voice as people milled past them.

“I overheard him the other night. I think he’s going to enter the tournament and use some kind of special lance to kill Arthur. I’ve been keeping an eye on all the competitors, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Maybe he’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Maybe. It’s just- It’s so hard to work for Arthur _and_ try and keep an eye out for an assassin.”

“Well, if you see this man, please tell me,” Gwen said, resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Arthur may be willing to risk his life, but I’m sure if I tell Morgana and she tells the King, he’ll force Arthur to withdraw and he’ll be safe.”

“Thought Morgana kind of doesn’t care if Arthur lives or dies at the moment,” Merlin said.

“She doesn’t mean it.”

“Kind of seems like she does.”

Gwen smiled. “If Arthur dies, she would have no one left to argue with. What would she do all day?”

\---

Merlin found a place to stand near the arena’s entrance. There was a joust between Sir Leon and Sir Orisen, and then Arthur was back on, this time facing a man called Sir Carren. Merlin had checked on this Sir Carren before the match -- he looked tall, sweaty, and altogether unlike the assassin Merlin had seen the other night. From his spot on the sidelines, Merlin watched Arthur and Sir Carren ride in on horseback. They both had full armour and helmets covering their faces, but from the way he held his lance Merlin could easily tell which Arthur was.

The two reached opposite sides of the arena. As they charged towards each other, Merlin smirked at the red ribbon rippling on Sir Carren’s arm. Sir Carren landed a blow, and Merlin tensed up, but Arthur managed to stay on his horse, though as they ran at each other the second time he was swaying back and forth a lot more than he normally did.

Thankfully, Arthur won the round. He once again rode out of the arena not-dead. Back in the tent, Arthur took off his shirt to reveal a large blue bruise blossoming on his chest.

“Maybe you should pull out,” Merlin said as he helped Arthur into a new shirt.

“Don’t be silly, Merlin. It’s just a bruise.”

“Yeah, and it’s bigger than my fist. What if you get hurt worse next time?”

“I’ll be fine. What you should be more concerned about is making sure my horse is fed and watered for the next match.”

“Right away, Sire.”

\---

Merlin tended to Arthur’s horse. Then he peeked into the tent of his final competitor of the day, Sir Vidus. He didn’t look like the assassin, though he did look a bit like Lancelot, a thought that made Merlin’s chest achy and tight.

Merlin came back and helped Arthur with his armour, then watched him ride off towards the arena. A few moments later another armoured figure, Sir Vidus, followed behind him. For some reason the sight of him made Merlin tingly with unease. Maybe he was just scared that with Arthur injured, Sir Vidus would stand more of a chance of beating him. Then Merlin noticed Sir Vidus’s arms as he rode past: armoured, and completely bare.

No ribbon from Morgana.

Merlin sprinted to Sir Vidus’s tent and tore open the cloth door. There was a lumpy pile of blankets in the corner. When Merlin lifted them up, there was a body underneath. It was Sir Vidus. Unconscious, likely dead. Armourless. Curling on the ground beside him was a silky green ribbon.

Merlin fled from the tent, crossing the grass so quickly that he almost stumbled multiple times. As one of the horses approached the arena entrance, Merlin shouted, “Sir Vidus!” Merlin skidded to a stop when he reached him and looked up at the armoured rider. Panting, he said, “One of the belts is loose on your saddle. I can fix it.”

“Well, hurry up, then,” came a muffled voice through the helmet. Merlin stepped forward, breathing hard, and began to adjust a loop on the saddle. The leather was hot from the sun. As the rider turned his head away, looking towards Arthur’s horse, which had already entered the arena, Merlin unfastened two of the belts securing the saddle. His hands shook a little as he worked -- he’d heard of servants beaten or killed for failing to properly prepare their master’s horse or armour before a match.

“Done,” Merlin croaked, stepping back.

Without a thank you, Myror the assassin spurred on his horse and marched into the arena.

\---

Merlin’s heartbeat thrummed in his throat as he watched the two competitors square up at opposite ends of the arena. The horses charged towards each other.

Arthur wasn’t holding his lance up quite as high as he normally did. Myror, on the other hand, had a steady grip on his weapon. As they grew closer and closer, Merlin dug his fingernails into the skin of his other hand. In the glint of the bright sunlight, the point of Myror’s lance seemed unusually sharp.

Before their lances were able to land a blow, the assassin tumbled violently off the side of his horse. He hit the dusty ground and the horse carried on, saddle now flapping loosely, only secured on one side. Myror's lance clattered across the ground, and as he rolled his helmet was ripped off his head. Arthur slowed his horse at the sight of his fallen opponent. Confused murmuring rippled through the stands at the sight of the unfamiliar face -- when the competitors had presented themselves at the start of the tournament, they’d all shown themselves. Merlin could see the King standing up, and could feel the uncertainty rippling from Arthur, who sat frozen on his horse, lance hanging loosely in his grip.

Guards ran down from the stands and hauled Myror up, who was barely conscious, a red welt forming on his forehead. Arthur took off his helmet and watched as Myror was carried off. Then Arthur turned his head, and his eyes met Merlin’s from across the arena.

He gave the slightest nod, the slightest acknowledgement, the slightest _You were right all along_. Merlin wasn’t sure if it meant Arthur had figured out Merlin had sabotaged Myror’s saddle. Merlin didn’t really care; all he knew was that Arthur saw him, and even if it was just for thirty seconds, it was the first time he was looking at him with actual respect, and not like he was just a servant.

\---

The stadium quickly cleared out, jousting done for the day and everyone eager to go home and gossip about the latest scandal. After making sure Morgana walked with Uther and the guards back to the castle, Gwen hurriedly said, “I need to find Merlin” and went off in search of her friend. When the crowd thinned out, she found him leading Arthur’s horse towards the stables.

“Merlin!” she called, running over to him and slowing her pace to match his as he guided the horse along. “That was the assassin, wasn’t it.”

Merlin nodded. “That was him. I talked to Arthur; his lance had a switch in the side that made a sharper point pop out at the end. Lucky his saddle broke, or Arthur would be…” his voice trailed off.

Gwen looked at him, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Very lucky. I’ve never seen someone fall off their horse at a joust _before_ being hit by the lance.”

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered. “Good thing today was the first, then.”

“Merlin.” She gave him a hard look. “You knew he was the assassin, didn’t you?”

“I was pretty sure.”

“Did you interfere with his saddle?”

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t absolutely certain he was the assassin?”

“I… took a lucky guess.”

“They could have thrown you in prison for sabotaging one of the competitors!” Gwen berated.

“I had to, or Arthur would have died.”

They’d reached the stables. Gwen and Merlin both stopped at the entrance, eyes on each other.

“You were willing to risk your life to protect him?”

“Of course,” Merlin said automatically. Then his eyes widened a bit, and he added, “I mean, I’d be out of a job otherwise.”

Gwen watched Merlin standing at the stable entrance. The last time she’d been there was when they’d been saying goodbye to Lancelot. She’d watched Merlin look at Lancelot with the deepest sadness written all over him, and had felt compelled to leave them alone to say goodbye.

The memory jolted something in Gwen’s brain. She looked down at the ground, then back up into Merlin’s eyes, which carried a completely different emotion from that day with Lancelot, but somehow looked exactly the same. She thought about Elyan, and the way he’d looked the day he’d shouted at her and stormed out the door for the last time.

“Gwen?” Merlin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! I’m perfect. Sorry, I should get back to Lady Morgana. I’m glad Arthur’s okay. And you. I’ll see you later, Merlin.” She flashed him a smile and rushed away, her heartbeat pulsing through her hands.

\---

The joust continued for the next two days. Arthur won the tournament. Morgana snuck into Arthur’s room and filled his training boots with oatmeal, just in case he thought his recent victory was an excuse for his big head to inflate even more.

Gwen didn’t talk to Merlin until four days after the tournament was over. She found him in the castle halls in the morning, her fingers ghosting his sleeve as she said, “Will you come to the forest with me? I need to talk to you.”

\---

The temperature had finally dropped. Soft grey clouds were slathered across the sky as Gwen and Merlin crested a hill and stopped in a thicket in the forest. “It’s beautiful here,” Gwen said, stepping over a log and walking through the soft grass.

Merlin trailed quietly behind her. She looked back and watched him, hands behind his back and eyes down, as he stepped into the thicket as well. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, voice tight as he finally tilted his head up. His eyes were bright.

“I just wanted to talk,” she said, putting on the calming voice she used around spooked horses. She sat down on a mossy log. “I’ve never really told you about my brother.”

“You said he left,” Merlin said, standing stiffly.

Gwen nodded. “He was angry. My mother… she died when we were very little. My father had to work twice as hard to protect the two of us. He always wanted to protect Elyan, but Elyan felt like… I suppose he felt like my father wanted to change him, not protect him.”

“Change him?” Merlin echoed.

Gwen patted the stretch of log beside her, and Merlin sat. “My brother likes other men,” Gwen said. “Romantically.”

Beside her, Merlin tensed up, his hands folding together roughly.

“Father got scared when Elyan went out and kissed boys. He was terrified Elyan would be caught and executed. It terrified me as well. We were probably too harsh on him. I can’t blame Elyan for-” Gwen stopped as her voice caught in her throat. Her eyes prickled with heat. “We never tell anyone,” Gwen continued. “I haven’t seen Elyan in years, but I still have to protect him. I wanted to tell you, though.”

She looked over at Merlin. His back was straight as a sword blade, and his throat was bobbing over and over, as if he were trying to swallow but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he said, voice hoarse.

“I…” Gwen didn’t want to force Merlin into admitting anything he didn’t want to admit. At the same time, whenever she’d glanced at him the past week her head had been flooded with images of Elyan: the crinkle of his smile, the way he’d playfully bump her with his shoulder, the raw pain hidden behind his angry eyes. She’d failed her little brother. But if Merlin was comfortable enough to trust her, she wouldn’t fail again. “I know you won’t tell anyone,” she finished.

“Because I’m the same,” he said, flashing her what was technically a smile based on the upturn of his lips, but was so heartbreaking that no one ever would have called it that.

His brow furrowed as he rubbed the heels of his palms furiously into his shining eyes. “Did you know about me and Lancelot?”

“No,” Gwen replied softly. “I guessed, after.”

She reached out a hand, curling her fingers around Merlin’s wrist. They sat in the cool forest thicket for a few minutes, not speaking, leaves rustling in the trees as birds flitted about.

“I like women as well,” Merlin said. “I like both.”

Gwen frowned. She hadn’t know that was possible. Elyan only liked men. You could like both?

“I’m sorry I forced you to tell me, Merlin,” she said. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. All I wanted was for you to know that I’m here for you.”

The corners of his mouth curled up. “Thank you, Gwen.”

She decided not to mention Arthur. She decided not to bring up this topic ever again, unless Merlin wanted to.

Together, they headed back to the castle. The walk into the forest had been stilted and uncomfortable. The walk out was much easier.


End file.
